


Dance of Sparks

by missmaryr (mbmatthews1)



Series: The Rebuilding of Cybertron [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-01 20:31:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5219789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mbmatthews1/pseuds/missmaryr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lovely dancer who has no idea who his sire might be, struggling to step outside the boundaries Cybertonian society places on his kind, finds he has a destiny no one ever imagined for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Admiring a new arrival

**Author's Note:**

> While this story can stand alone, it is the sequel to Maze of Sparks.

_The Great Cybertronian war ended in a way no one expected._

_Wheeljack invented a way to get energon from sunlight in space; with this new resource, the Autobots built a new Ark, hoping to find and found a new colony away from Earth._

_Optimus heard that Shockwave planned a shocking act, and raced to Cybertron to stop him, Megatron right behind him. They were too late; Shockwave released the Fallen, who in turn began a ritual to awake Unicron. Decepticons and Autobot s fought together, until Optimus Prime woke Primus, who sent the Fallen away._

_All of those who fought the Fallen were terribly wounded, and close to dying. To them Primus gave the choice, to rest in the Well or be healed, but bound to rebuild Cybertron. To Megatron he gave one further duty- to protect the holder of the Matrix of Purity, Optimus, who gave up the Matrix of Leadership and his right to hold weapons for the new Matrix. Together, they arranged to bring the Decepticons to Cybertron for purification, and then the Autobots._

_But the Autobots on Earth believed that Optimus died, and prepared to flee into space to the new Ark. When the Decepticons arrived, Skyfire raced away with the former officers of the Autobots, and disappeared in a terrible explosion, leaving nothing behind. The Decepticons took the Autobots left back to Cybertron, took away their weapons, and set them to help with the rebuilding. They treated the Autobots decently, laying the foundation for integration._

_The Prime discovered that a program existed to enable a Cybertronian to bud a sparkling. Some could sire and carry, and some only sire, depending on the resonance of the spark. All of the Autobots were able to carry and bud a sparkling, but only a small percentage of Decepticons could. The offspring of two Autobots could carry._

_Thus the Autobots were treasured as carriers, but limited because they alone held the ability to grow the population._

_And only a few knew the secret behind the explosion…and that the Matrix of Leadership found a new bearer..._

 

 

“He’s beautiful,” the deep blue and purple mech cooed at the sparkling Seeker. The sparkling blinked up at the new face with blue optics and chirred. “Hello to you too, Lightwind,” he added with a smile. The sparkling cooed back and allowed his uncle to take him without fuss.

 “Charming him already, Wayfinder?” Both the mechs turned to look at the sparkling’s sire, Lightstorm. He was a tall Seeker, silver and blue in a striking pattern. “He’s just gotten to where he’ll let me carry him.”

Behind Wayfinder, an orange and blue doorwinged femme pulled a container from her subspace. “A selection of Mixmaster’s best energon goodies, for when the new parents need some comfort,” she said with a smile. “Parenthood seems to suit both of you so far! Especially Illusion.”

“That’s because his great-creator Sweetwings had an orn off yesterday, Quid,” Illusion said wryly. “She came over and ordered me into recharge. When I powered back up, the place was clean, too.” He took the container and walked over to a partially enclosed refueling area to store it.

“She said after patching up mechs who should know better and listening to wailing sparklings getting their antiviral updates, quiet quarters with a healthy sparkling was better than a spa treatment,” Lightstorm said, and laughed. After Liquidator admired the sparkling, Wayfinder carried him over to the refueling area.

 “What kind of arrangements have you and Illusion made for taking care of the sparkling when he goes back to work with Sharpster?” Liquidator asked.

Just then the door pinged. At Lightstorm’s answering ping, the door slid open, and a three vorn old dark blue and orange door-winged sparkling came in with a tall door-winged orange and silver mech and a smaller grounder who was pale blue and white with optics that matched her armor. Illusion came out carrying the sparkling to greet the new guests, “Sharpster, it’s good to see you and Harmony.” Soon after Wayfinder emerged with three cubes.

Seeing the four siblings together, Lightstorm could see that all of them bore a strong resemblance to each other in the shape of the helm and the blue coloring. Both Liquidator and Sharpster had their sire Swindle’s orange coloring, reflected in the sparkling with them, and the purple optics that most offspring of Decepticons and Autobots possessed. Illusion’s armor had his sire Seaspray’s’s blue as well as the blue of his creator Smokescreen.

Like Illusion, Wayfinder’s optics were the blue of their parents, both former Autobots and therefore both creators.  He wondered who contributed the deep colors that darkened Smokescreen’s blue and red to the deep blue and purple in Wayfinder. So did everyone who knew the lovely mech. Unfortunately, the only ones who knew for certain went to the Well several vorns ago.  

 As soon as he caught sight of Wayfinder, the sparkling squealed and rushed over, shouting, “Wayfinder!” He rammed against Wayfinder’s lower legs and hugged them. “Did you bring me a puzzle? Will you help me put it together?”

Wayfinder laughed as he handed the cubes over to the purple-opticked mechs and knelt by the sparkling. “Liquidator has the puzzle. Remember your manners, Affinity, and ask very sweetly for it.”

 He sent an amused glance at his Decepticon sister as the sparkling bounced over and assumed a formal posture. He stood up straight, lifted his lavender optics to his aunt, and said, “May I have the puzzle, please?”

“You may,” she said, extending an approving field over him and pulling the package from subspace to give him. He remembered to thank her before rushing back over to Wayfinder and pulling him to the refueling station, where a table and stools stood. Illusion carried the sparkling over, to be joined by Harmony. Three cubes sat on the table, and the three blue-opticked mechs took them. Affinity scrambled to the stool and grabbed the package.

Sharpster turned to Liquidator and Lightstorm. “Quid, Storm, good to see you. Have you gotten used to the new addition yet?’ he asked after drinking part of his cube.

“I’m not afraid to pick him up anymore, Sharpster,” the Seeker admitted. “He glanced over at the refueling area and his field almost glowed with fondness as he saw Illusion refueling the sparkling while Wayfinder lined up puzzle pieces for Affinity to choose from and Harmony chatted, gesturing as he talked.  He put his cube on a small shelf near a lovely lighting fixture of matched colored pieces.  The fixture started as a gift puzzle from Lightstorm to his partner after they discovered he carried. Illusion finished it the last days of his carrying. He touched it lightly and turned his attention back to his guests.

Liquidator looked around the living quarters in approval. Like most starting couples, Lightwind and Illusion found quarters in a living complex in the outer areas of Kaon, quite some distance from the older, inner part of the city; this one catered to both grounders and fliers, with a balcony for the flier and a lift for the grounder. “I do like the layout of these quarters. It’s comfortable.”

“Did Sweetwings say when Illusion can start back to work?” Sharpster asked. “Harmony made sure we had an extra sparkling berth for the nursery, so Illusion will only need to bring the sparkling’s toys and refueling container, and we’ll add Illusion to the sparkling care schedule.”

“In another deca-orn, she said,” Lightwind told him. “Enough time for Lightwing to settle into a refueling schedule so Illusion can recharge decently. You can manage that long without him, I hope?”

Quid sipped from her cube as Sharpster said, “We can manage, but I admit I miss him, he knows exactly where everything is. The other workers have to hunt for anything we don’t use daily.” He looked over, his field taking on a similar feel to Lightstorm’s as he watched his sparkling and carrier. Then his purple optics, much like Liquidator’s, lit on his blue-opticked brother and he frowned.

Liquidator knew her sibling well enough that she swiftly asked, “Did you get that contract for the new project the Administration is starting?”

“An Administrative contract?” Lightstorm asked, his attention caught. “Does it include your rebuilding tax?”

Over in the refueling nook, the three blue-opticked mechs glanced over at the Decepticons. “Whew, she got him off the subject,” Illusion said softly as Lightstorm recharged on his shoulder.

Wayfinder vented and nodded. Affinity fussed when she failed to match a piece for the third time. Wayfinder showed her several options; the second fit and he continued to match pieces happily. “I haven’t found a Decepticon yet who is willing to let his partner keep dancing,” he said.

“I know you love to dance,” Harmony said, “but you’re a creator. Don’t you want little ones? You’re really good with them, and all creators need to create to be truly fulfilled.”

Wayfinder shared a glance with Illusion. “He’s so naïve,” Illusion send via a private com.

“He went to one of the inner city schools for potential creators only, because they thought they could find a decent Seeker trine for him,” Wayfinder sent back. “The only reason his creator enrolled him in the matchmaker program is that he was a grounder in a Seeker family and he didn’t like the trines that courted him.”  Sharpster was one of the few mechs that was a good match that her family could accept without getting backlash from the Seekers. Out loud he said, “Sharpster never told you I was raised at the Temple through my sparklinghood?”

“Of course,” he said, confused.

“Did he ever tell you what they told me before I left?”

Harmony looked from one brother to the others. “No. It never came up, I guess. He said you didn’t know who your sire was, and I know that does cause some problems.”

“Some problems,” Illusion echoed. “Harmony, he can’t accept any partner who has an Autobot carrier for two generations, with maybe three exceptions, all fliers where he would run into the same problem you did.” Without the scandal of your carrier's partner murdering your carrier, he thought to himself.  

“And,” Wayfinder added, his light tone masking his very serious words, “they told me that something was different about my spark resonance.”

Harmony took in a sharp vent. “Oh, Pits.” Spark resonance determined the ability of a mech to carry. “I understand.” Affinity looked up at his creator, sensing his creator’s field become disturbed; Harmony pulled it in and helped him with his puzzle for a while. Wayfinder still felt the dismay in Harmony’s field, and a whisper of swirling thoughts. After reassuring his sparkling, Harmony asked, “But they don’t know anything for certain?”

“They said I would have the same chance as most Decepticons,” Wayfinder told her. “It’s all right, Harmony. I’ve decided that if a mech cares about me enough, we’ll find alternatives.” He let his field touch the mech so distressed for him, and calmed it gently. Harmony relaxed. “But don’t mention the matter to Sharpster. He’ll only get upset, say it wasn’t a formal evaluation and we should ignore it.”

“Sharpster doesn’t want to believe it because he wants you to partner with one of his friends and work for him full-time instead of just doing the interviews for the difficult matches,” Illusion said wryly.

“He really does care about both of you,” Harmony told them earnestly. “He said that if it weren’t for the two of you, he and Quid wouldn’t have their own businesses and that both of you deserve to be settled with a good partner or cohort.” 

“We know that,” Wayfinder assured him, stroking his field just a little more. “But that worked both ways, Harmony, and our creator helped us, too.   Swindle wanted all of us to work for him.” He paused. “You do know what happened with our creator and their sire?”

Harmony nodded. “Creator and his partner told me. That must have been horrible.” His armors shuddered just a little.

“Creator set everything up for us,” Wayfinder said softly. “Sharpster told you about how they got their businesses from Swindle, right? That they both made bets with him?”

“Quid that she could make a profit running a business without high grade, and Sharpster with the matchmaking business?” he asked. They nodded. “They filed formal contracts saying that if they made a profit in the first vorn, they owned the business.”

“And became our protectors,” Illusion added quietly. “If they lost, they had to take over one of his businesses and run it the way he wanted.” His optics met his sibling’s. Wayfinder had his field locked down. “And he intended to offer both of us as breeders to whoever paid the most. He had a deal worked out with someone in the budding registry. Quid and Sharpster promised they would get us to the Temple whatever it took but there’s no way of knowing if they could have done it.”

“When they both fulfilled the contracts,” Wayfinder said quietly, “Creator exposed Swindle’s underground empire. He waited until all of us were secure first. He made a deal with the Enforcers that they would leave us alone before he gave them the information.”

 Someone tipped Swindle off. He tried to force Smokescreen to go into hiding with him. There was an Enforcer recording of Swindle holding on to Smokescreen and collapsing the building on both of them.  The Administration confiscated all of Swindle’s property but they honored the Enforcer’s bargain with Smokescreen after viewing the contracts and quietly investigating both businesses.

“My great carrier has the opposite problem,” Harmony said, trying to change the subject.

 

Lightstorm looked over at the blue-eyed mechs as Quin and Sharpster discussed how the rebuilding tax affected their various businesses. “Do you know,” he said, “a lot of mechs our age envy you, having thriving businesses so young.”

“We didn’t want to work with Sire,” Quid said. “Creator warned us that he was into some illegal dealings and we would be better on our own. We didn’t know he wanted all of us safe before he exposed Sire. He didn’t even tell Wayfinder what he planned.”

Sharpster looked over at his creator partner and siblings. “We all worked hard,” Sharpster said, “but without Creator and Wayfinder, Quin would be helping finish Vos and I would be working hard labor at Praxus. I found a datapad with Sire’s plans. I would front for his hackers and Quin for his pimps.”

Lightstorm frowned, not familiar with the term.  Quid explained, adding, “Swindle forced several mechs and fems to work at interface for pay after they borrowed from him at high interest and could not pay him back.  When a neutral tried that in Iacon, the Prime found out and made a planet-wide proclamation that if a mech chose to sell his chassis that was his choice to make, but forcing a mech into doing the same, especially to pay off a debt, was illegal.”

“So prostitution is not illegal, but pimping is,” Sharpster summed up. “Swindle would tell the debtors to work with a particular mech, who was the pimp. They did get hard labor at Praxus.”  

Quid said, “When he signed off on the completion of the contract, Sire said he didn’t know whether to be proud of us or torqued at us for beating him.” She vented. “Wayfinder worked his pedes to the struts for both of us. Between working at the club for me, and tweeking the program and doing the final interviews for Sharpster, we both managed to make a profit.”

Lightstorm regarded the purple and blue mech thoughtfully. For quite some time he thought Sharpster led the family, but he knew now he was wrong.

 Like many another mech his age, there seemed to be no carrier he could court that his sire- and the Seeker community- would approve. His family connections were good, but all the carriers he knew were either partnered, too close in kinship, or too young.  Like many another mech, he desired the lovely Wayfinder with his dark colors, his graceful movement, and his calm demeanor. One quiet night at the club, more on impulse than anything else, he asked if Wayfinder would consider a courtship.  If he couldn’t get a winged, rotary, or doorwinged mech, why not a pretty grounder? He figured with Wayfinder could handle the bar, they could find him a job at his sire’s business doing sales or customer service, which required the same kinds of skills.

Wayfinder gave him a lovely smile. “I’m so flattered a Seeker would even look at a grounder like me. But one of my conditions is that I keep dancing.” That was not acceptable to Lightstorm and they both knew it.  “But there are a few mechs in my sibling’s matchmaker database who might suit you.”

 Lightstorm grumbled about the expense, considering that the database was unlikely to have many choices for his frame type.  Wayfinder commed Sharpster for a mild discount. His curiosity piqued, the Seeker paid and filled out the lengthy questionnaire.

Sharpster contacted him soon after and asked him to allow a personal interview with Wayfinder at no added expense. Surprised and hopeful, Lightstorm accepted. Wayfinder talked to him for over a joor in a private room at the club. The next orn, Sharpster called the Seeker into his office and explained that they did find several matches, but he felt Lightstorm should know that the one of the matches they found was Sharpster’s sibling. Then he handed him a datapad with the match information.

Of the choices, one was a doorwinged mech with an Autobot carrier, Sharpster’s sibling. The others were rotaries or flier, offspring of neutral parents. As promised, all of them met the criteria he specified, but once he met Illusion, he never bothered with the others. 

Lightstorm realized why Illusion was not snapped up by a Seeker partner or trine within a vorn after he reached adulthood, like any other door-winged or winged carrier. Swindle wanted to use both of Smokescreen’s potential carrier offspring as breeders, so he allowed both of them to be educated at the private Temple school outside of Kaon, limiting their connections in Kaon and keeping them from meeting potential suitors or the parents of potential suitors.

 Once he reached maturity, Illusion worked in Sharpster’s office in the outskirts of Kaon, which kept him from meeting many fliers. Since Quin managed a popular club and Sharpster ran a matchmaking program, they could search for a perfect match for their sibling without pressure from the Seekers.

But the one whose judgement they relied on stood behind the bar and danced for public entertainment. Wayfinder ran this family, the way his own creator ran Lightstorm’s family. No matter how much Quin and Sharpster argued, Wayfinder would stay right where he wanted until some outside force intervened.

He thanked Primus that Wayfinder used his skills to run a club and find matches between partners. How far would Swindle’s underground empire have lasted if he looked past the mech’s looks and discovered his management skills? He pushed the thoughts from his head when he got a com from his creator.

After their guests left, he told Illusion about the problem. Illusion looked thoughtful, and asked a few careful questions. “Harmony’s creator is having the same problem,” he mused. “Wayfinder thinks he can help.”   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Wayfinder dances and Sharpster makes a request

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wayfinder dances and Sharpster makes a request.

As Wayfinder walked out from his rehearsal, Spin, serving at the bar,  commed him. “Tronis is in, sitting at the edge of the bar,” the green and gold mech reported. “Think he’s had another report?” He snickered.

Wayfinder made a rude noise and Spin laughed out loud. “Is it busy?”

“No, but I can get stocked for later if you’ll help out,” Spin told him. “He wants his usual.”

“I’ll handle it,” Wayfinder said as he walked into the bar area. He caught sight of his favorite customer as soon as he entered the room. Tronis was hard to miss, due to his size; he was the largest Cybertronian Wayfinder ever met, and one of the kindest. He turned to survey the room as Wayfinder approached, and smiled at the dancer. Wayfinder smiled back as he circled to the bar entrance, and called out, “The usual?” Tronis nodded. Wayfinder brought the cube and a dish of magnesium chips over. He pinged the datapad at the bar, which showed the charge. Tronis, like most members of the club, had an account which he paid off every quarter. “How is my favorite customer?” he asked.

“Tired,” Tronis admitted. “I took another mech to the Temple today. Skydive says to give you his regards and let you know when you have an opening, he has a job applicant.”

“I’ll tell Quid,” he said. “We might just need someone.” A server commed him an order and he moved to fill it as he talked.  “Sharpster’s been contacted by a couple of first generation Seeker partners asking for help for some carriers.” He set the order on the table and the server whisked it away. “Bluestreak and Fireflight sound familiar?” Some time ago Tronis served as an Enforcer for central Kaon, and kept up with all the well- known first generation families.

“Fireflight’s had a lot of processor problems when he carries,” Tronis said. “He and Bluestreak budded early the last two times they carried and the sparklings didn’t make it. If they can each bud one more carrier, the pressure will be off since both will have a creator for every non- carrier they’ve budded.”

“I know how my creator resisted carrying a creator,” Wayfinder mused, “and he was first generation too.” He filled another order. “That’s going to take some of my time away from the club. If they’ll arrange the usual tax break, Quid might be willing.”

Tronis nodded. “When are you dancing?”

“A few joors. It’s a dual dance with Amethyst, trying something a little new with the shadow routine.” A customer called out to Wayfinder, who moved to serve him and banter a little.

Tronis watched as Wayfinder mixed the drink and talked to the young mech. More than once, he offered to court Wayfinder, knowing that no matter who his sire might be, Tronis could safely partner with him. But Wayfinder’s terms included continuing to dance. Personally, he wanted Wayfinder to dance as long as he wanted, but his family could not afford the public relations problems it might cause.

Wayfinder glanced over at the enforcer as he talked to the youngling about career options and listened with his trained senses to what he meant as opposed to what he said. The youngling loved his sire and wished to please him by joining the family business, but the youngling liked engineering better and wanted to take an administrative position with the city planning in Vos. Wayfinder listened, occasionally asking a neutral question, until one of the youngling’s friends called him over for a game of Quasar.

He remembered how Tronis came in to investigate a call that a carrier was being forced to dance in a bar. Wayfinder remembered laughing at him. “I love dancing,” he said simply. “I love it when the crowd cheers for me . It’s my joy, my release.”

Quid bristled at the accusation. “I know who probably made that report, and by Primus I’ll tell him he can jump in the smelter the next time I see him. Wayfinder dances because he wants to, and the moment he wants to stop he can. It’s his choice. He wants to court Wayfinder, and when Wayfinder told him no, he tried to bribe me.” Then she showed him Sharpster’s matchmaking database with Wayfinder listed in the database, with no hits. He remembered how impressed Tronis was that Wayfinder held a share in the club and in his other sibling’s business

Tronis dismissed the report. Another appeared half a vorn later, and then another. The head of the Enforcement division, Barricade sent his partner Streetwise in to talk quietly to the dancer. Wayfinder introduced him to the servers, and Streetwise learned that the club served as a conduit for displaced Decepticon carriers, allowing them to make a new start. Entry into Sharpster’s matchmaking database was included in their wages, and most found a compatible cohort or partner within half a vorn.  In fact, several of the professional masseuse and polish specialists who rented professional space in the back of the club had their own cohort. Streetwise carried back a glowing but heavily edited report to Barricade.

Wayfinder vented softly. He would accept courtship from Tronis in an astrosecond if the mech would only agree to let him keep dancing. Wayfinder needed the dancing, needed to applause and approval and release to purge the constant barrage of emotions and thoughts around him. He heard it as white noise, an unavoidable fact of life. It was not Swindle’s occasional blows or sneers that bothered him as a youngling; it was the resentment and flashs of hatred he constantly exuded around Wayfinder that drained the youngling he was then.

His internal alarm alerted him. He told Spin he had the bar and headed to get his polish on for the show.

TRTR

Sharpster, Lightspeed, and two full Seekers with bright red optics walked up to a tall building on a brightly-lit street. Muted music with a heavy beat and a brightly-lit entrance invited attention, but Sharpster led the three Seeker to a side door and pinged it. Once in the building, the music blared louder, almost crowding out the sound of many metal feet hitting a floor and the hum of conversation. A lift took them to a second floor. The enclosed area showed the dance floor with music playing but not as loudly, and with the other noise gone. “Does it have to be so loud?” the blue Seeker asked.

 “We cater to a younger generation here, Seeker Thundercracker,” Sharpster said with deference. He kept his field tight, concealing his nervous hope and apprehension. On the one servo, gaining the patronage and favor of first-generation Decepticons would give the family connections that could only help their businesses. On the other, if they disappointed the Seekers, it could damage their good reputation. “They like the loud music. Can I offer you some refreshment?”

Both wanted high-grade. “No high-grade?” the other Seeker asked in amazement.

“No, Seeker Flightspeed,” Sharpster explained carefully, “because otherwise Quin could not serve younglings.” Quid's club thrived as it was one of very few of its kind that catered to younger adults and older younglings. 

They grumbled, but when they sipped the mid-grade mixes Lightspeed recommended, Thundercracker said, “This is good,” with mild appreciation. They surveyed the dance floor below them, which held a large crowd. The bar was similarly occupied, keeping two servers busy. As Sharpster said, the clientele consisted mostly of younglings and young adults. Some sat at table playing Quasar or similar games, or simply talking and munching on rust sticks and magnesium clusters while sipping their mixes.

The lights began to dim and the music faded. The dancers stopped dancing, some hurrying to the bar for refreshments while the ones at the tables and bar rose and filed into the dance floor. Against one of the walls, a raised platform lit up, going from dim to sharp to slowly reveal a dark form curled into himself in the back of the floor.

 As music rose, soft but with an insistent rhythm, the crowd hushed. The music quickened, and the form unfurled to reveal a deep blue and purple mech who moved with the music. His wax glittered at times.  He radiated uncertainty, flowing back and forth with the music. Soon after, a white mech with red optics and pale purple highlights flowed into the floor, as though unaware of the dark mech. As the music began to quicken, the dark mech followed the white one, who seemed oblivious to his dark shadow. They moved together, but the white mech began to more with more effort as the dark mech in his wake moved with more and more certainty, getting closer and closer as the music intensified.

Sharpster and Lightspeed shared an amused glance when they saw how Thundercracker and Flightspeed watched the dance and dancers intently.

 Suddenly the white mech turned, and faced the dark mech. The sight seemed to stun him, but the dark reached out and gripped the white one’s servos and they danced together in perfect accord, until the white mech fell to his knees and seemed to arc, as though budding. The dark mech held on, but seemed as distressed, until suddenly they broke apart. The dark mech collapsed. The white one took him into his arms, and into the music came the wail of a newly-budded sparkling. The lights faded, and when the platform was dark, the music faded to a silent room.

Applause broke out, with cheers and shouts which faded to chatter as the patrons dispersed, some to resume their games, some to the bar, and some leaving.

“That was amazing,” Thundercracker said sincerely.

 Flightspeed echoed him. “I had my doubts when Lightspeed said your sibling was a dancer, but this-“  he shook his helm. “All right. I’m willing to discuss the matter now.”

 

Wayfinder came out of the washracks after cleaning off the glitter. The white mech sat in the prep rooms, still shaken. “I can’t believe I messed up like that,” he said, and his vocalizer spat static. “Thank Primus we managed to link and improvise.”

“Amethyst, did you hear that crowd?” Wayfinder asked. “They loved it. They don’t know you messed up, they just know they liked what they saw.” Amethyst relaxed, catching Wayfinder’s enthusiasm, and soon headed out.

Wayfinder vented and moved to the center of the room, where he began to move slowly. He always needed to calm down after a performance, and doing his stretching helped. As he moved from pose to pose, he relived the intensity of the crowd, how he caught them up in the dance. He savored how he seized Amethyst’s fear at his mistake to reach out and meld briefly with the other mech in a dance that merged smoothly into the final moves they practiced. This was a new dance, and until performed, no mech could know how a new dance would work. Finishing his routine, calmed now, he moved to the wall-length mirror and studied his reflection, remembering how his dancing started.

Swindle believed his offspring would lose their bets because he arranged for their work tax to come up in the middle of the vorn. Fortunately, their creator Smokescreen, who knew Swindle’s ways, approached the Temple. They needed to place a couple of Decepticons carriers, and the club was in an area of Kaon far from their prior homes.  

While the matchmaking program made steady progress, business for the club dropped for a time, and one slow night Wayfinder demonstrated a line dance for everyone. Mechs came back and began calling him to dance for them. He began to develop routines. Mechs came to watch, and by the time Quid and Sharpster returned, the club’s business was booming. The carriers still worked for Sharpster and Quid as managers, though by this time they found more dependable partners and formed a stable cohort. 

Wayfinder felt his sibling approach before he showed up in the mirror. He always knew when mechs were around. He felt their emotions even when they pulled in their fields, and sometimes he caught images or heard strong thoughts. Both the Temple priests and Smokescreen taught him how to observe mechs and use what he saw to handle a situation. He told none of them about his strange ability.

Sharpster came up behind him. Instead of turning, Wayfinder met his gaze in the mirror. “Great dance,” Sharpster said.

“Yes,” Wayfinder said simply.

“Harmony and Illusion said they talked to you.” Wayfinder nodded. “Thundercracker and Flightspeed came tonight. They asked to bring Bluestreak and Fireflight here. They’re desperate, ‘Finder. Bluesteak’s budded two early, and Flightspeed’s afraid another will kill him, but the medics say that he’s healthy enough and strong enough to try again. And Fireflight’s always had trouble budding.”

Wayfinder nodded. “It’s going to take me from the club,” he said. “Quid’ll charge them for every credit she can squeeze out for that. She knows I’d do it for free, but she says she loses my time and we should get something for that.”

Sharpster laughed. “I did warn them that she handles the arrangments and costs. They said something about how our sire and creator made sharp businessmechs and femmes.” Then he sobered. “They’re worried.”

“The Council has no right to force carriers to bud like this,” Wayfinder said bitterly. “I don’t know why the Prime is allowing it.”

“The Council had to do something when those rumors went around about attacks in the asteroids,” Sharpster said, and his field was troubled. “There was a lot of talk about how we didn’t have enough mechs to defend the planet.”

“Which would have died down when nothing else ever happened,” Wayfinder retorted. “It was an excuse, Sharpster. “ 

“Oh? Either the Prime can’t or won’t stop them, ” Sharpster told him. “They’re going to enforce those ordinances, ‘Finder. Each Autobot carrier has to bud one carrier for each non-carrier mech they bud, and each new carrier has to partner or join a cohort by the time they reach twenty-five vorns. Or the Council choses partners for them. Half my business comes from desperate families trying to find a good partner for their carrier offspring before they reach that age.” They both knew that the new contract from the Administration was a program to help find compatible partners for those carriers. 

“Swindle got my official age changed,” Wayfinder said. “We know he did it so I could stay home and take care of Quid and Illusion.”  He let the bitterness creep into his voice. “You know how he wanted to use me. He never would have dared with Illusion. If the Seekers found out he was mistreating a door-winged mech, they’d’ve killed him. But me-no one would ever have known.”

Sharpster stepped up and put a servo on his shoulder. “We got out from under him,” he said. “Thanks to you and Creator.” 

Wayfinder put his own servo over his sibling’s. “But you and Quid took the risk for me and Illusion,” he said softly.

“I want you to have a choice, ‘Finder. Even with the change in your age, you’ve only got two vorns left. You need to find a good mech or trine and settle. I’d say to join the manger’s cohort, but they have too many carriers as it is.” Cohorts were pressured to have a higher proportion of non-carriers to carriers. If a cohort had too many carriers, the Council could require that they break up and reorganize with more non-carriers. “Quid and the club can manage without you. “

“I’m looking.”

“Look harder,” his brother advised, “or the Council will choose for you.” 


	3. Blades come to work and evokes painful memories in Wayfinder.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blades come to work for Quid and reminds Wayfinder of painful memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated chapter one.

Skydive frowned. “You know you’re taking a terrible risk, doing this,” he said bluntly. 

“I knew that when I arranged Illusion and Sharpster’s partnerships,” Wayfinder pointed out, “but there hadn’t been a problem yet. They’re all Seeker or Seeker-kin and they want fliers, doorwings, or rotors.” He stretched, soaking in the peace of the Temple where he grew up. “So as long as I can prove I’m in the database looking for a match, they don’t care.” 

“How likely are you to find a match?”

“With the specifications I listed, slim to none. I’ve altered the program so no one but me or Illusion can see them.” In this he did not trust Sharpster at all and Quinn not much more.  

He felt certain the database would never find a match. He specified a Decepticon single partner who would let him keep dancing, who did not have an Autobot carrier. Sharpster’s company considered five an average amount of matches, ten good, three acceptable. If Wayfinder lifted any of the criteria, the number of possible matches skyrocketed from zero to a minimum of twenty.

Yes, they were his siblings; yes, they cared for him; and yes, they wanted him to be happy. Still, both were Decepticons. As Quid pointed out to Sharpster, he would prefer to see Wayfinder partnered to one of his friends who would not tolerate him dancing but would accept him working for Sharpster. Wayfinder knew that several cohorts with businesses that supplied the club would gladly court him and let him keep working at the club, and he would not put it past her to pressure him into accepting one of them. Most neutrals could care less if he chose to dance or not, as long as he was compatible.

He glanced at the chapel and felt the longing he always felt when he saw it.  He visited the Temple weekly, using the peace and quiet of the chapels to renew his spark. Here, the constant barrage of ‘noise’ remained muted, and most of what he absorbed was peace. He longed with all his spark to stay and serve, to become a priest. Everyone at the Temple believed it was a matter of time.  Several times he went to the chapel and made his petition. He always got the same response- he would serve when the time came, but not yet.  The High Priest told him, “I believe there is a special destiny awaiting you, young one, but that will be revealed only in Primus’ good time.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Skydive said as they walked to the shelter portion of the Temple. “Thundercracker is trinemate to Starscream, and Starscream heads the Council right now. Normally the Prime can keep him in line, or make the Lord Protector do it, but with all the issues, they’re distracted.” He stopped at the door.

“Sharpster got the contract to write the Council’s matchmaker program,” Wayfinder told him.

“Good for him.”

“Yes, but he’s really worried now. He thinks it means that they’re serious about enforcing the age limit, and he’s been pushing me hard to get settled.” He vented.

“Is there someone you’d consider? Through a private com, he added, “The rumors about activity in the asteroids is true, Wayfinder. Oh, the danger is minimal, but the Prime has to remain in Iacon while it’s going on. And the arrival we’ve all been hoping for is finally on its way, but there’s no way to know how long it will take.”

 

“I’d let Tronis court me in an astrosecond. We match really well.” Tronis topped the list of single partners who would match him well. “But he says that with his family connections, I would have to give up dancing. He thinks I should be working with the medics and that his family could arrange a medical apprenticeship for me.”

 “Think about that.” Skydive opened the door. “In the meantime, come talk to Tronis’ latest problem. In a way, your siblings are related to him.” Muted babble of voices and fussing of sparklings rose from the room as they entered it. “Blades was in a cohort with Onslaught, Swindle’s gestalt-mate.  Onslaught is at Praxus.”

“On business?” He remembered Swindle mentioning that his brothers ran a clearing business.

“Onslaught sold the business when he and Blast Off dissolved their cohort and Blast Off went to Vos. He got sent to Vos after failing to pay his rebuilding tax.” Skydive’s voice was grim. “Unfortunately, there are some serious issues, and that’s why I’d like your help.”

Wayfinder understood the moment he met Blades. The heliformer looked terrible, small dents all over his chassis and his colors faded. Next to him stood another heliformer, slightly larger, with blue and purple colors and red optics. Wayfinder noted the optic color, which was rare but not unheard of in a Autobot-Decepticon offspring. He recognized him from the club. Hover was Blade’s offspring; Wayfinder remembered he left to work in Praxus designing buildings for the Administration.

 “I can take him home and take care of him, Groove,” the larger, younger heliformer said to the red and white cycleformer standing beside them.

“But someone needs to be with him all the time,” Groove said firmly, his hands on his gestalt-brother’s shoulder. “My gestalt has someone all the time.”

“The moment the word gets out that I’m available, the unpartnered Seekers will start coming around,” Blades said, softly but distinctly, and a soft keen escaped him. “It’s the same with First Aid and Streetwise, they work with Seekers. I wanted to go with Hot Spot.” He trembled, ever so slightly.

“He’s too far from the kind of medical support you need,” Groove said. Then the heliformer saw Skydive and Wayfinder. Groove and Blades followed his gaze.

“Wayfinder!” Hover recognized the dancer. “It’s good to see you.” He looked from him to Skydive, clearly wondering why he was there.

 Skydive said, “Hover, Quid can use some help in her office and sent Wayfinder over. Finder, Blades handled the office for the Combaticon’s site clearing company.” Blades looked at Groove; Wayfinder could see they were talking by com before Blades looked at Wayfinder, hope in his field. “Hover, every worker at the Club and the detailing spaces in the back is a carrie or in their cohort, so they know how to deal with carrier issues and who to call if anything goes wrong.” He paused. “Part of their employment agreement is being enrolled in Sharpster’s matchmaking database. Most of them find a partner within half a vorn or so.”

Groove nodded in agreement, clearly relieved.  “We’ve placed carriers with the club before. Finder is good at helping carriers hold on to sparklings.”

“He’s helping Fireflight and Bluestreak now, and so far they’re doing well,” Skydive said.

Blade’s field spiked with anxiety. “But Fireflight and Bluestreak partner with Seekers!”

Wayfinder reached out and began to stroke his field. “Yes, but they’re with high-level Seekers who want their partners to safely carry and bud at term. Can you see some low-level trine explaining to Thundercracker or Silverbolt why they caused Fireflight to get upset and lose another sparkling because they wanted to court a carrier that was already carrying? For that matter, Bluestreak could use the challenge of keeping them away.” Blades relaxed and managed a smile.

“If they upset Bluestreak, they’ll have Sweetwings on their tailpipes, and wish it was the Winglord instead,” Skydive pointed out. “That fem reminds me of Ratchet, I swear.” Both Groove and Blades laughed while Wayfinder wondered who Ratchet was.

Wayfinder observed Blades carefully when he came to work.

Blades listened to Quid intently as she explained the duties of the job. While the detailers were independent contractors who rented space, they ordered in bulk through Quid to cut costs.   “No problem,” he said confidently. “I ordered supplies and managed schedules all the time for Onslaught’s business. I can handle this,” and proceeded to prove it.

He worked well with Quid and the younger staff, but he kept his field tight, his manner professional, and his chassis out of reach. “He’s been abused,” Wayfinder said to Quid within two orns. “He’s going to need a lot of help.”

She nodded, her field showing her concern. “Hover’s worried. I like him, Finder, and I’m sorry for Blades. Do what you can for them.”

Wayfinder got the first inkling of what happened when Hover insisted on a new paint job and detailing. Wayfinder took him to the back. All of the detailers were Decepticon carriers or members of their cohort. Not a joor after Wayfinder left him, Rider, the lead detailer, commed him and said, “Finder, you’ve got to help this mech. He tightens up if we so much as lift a hand.”

Wayfinder came in and saw what they meant. Any time someone with red optics reached out to Blades, he flinched. “Blades,” he said, “Rider and all of this group came from the Temple.”

“But they look like Decepticons,” he said, his voice full of static.

“Hey,” Rider said, “we’ve been through it. I worked in a construction crew, wanted to join a cohort that needed a mech. When I went to get the programming and found out I was a carrier, couple of the mechs I worked with thought they could make me carry for them without a contract. It wasn’t pretty.” All of them had similar stories. “We know.”

“No you don’t,” Blades burst out. “You don’t know what he did to me. What they did to me, when he was losing and he didn’t have anything else to bet.” Shocked silence filled the room as Blades keened, shame and hate radiating from his field.

Wayfinder said, “Who’s got an empty table with the masseuses?” Rider hurried out to find one, and Wayfinder commed Ranger, one of the managers. There was a glowing cube waiting on the table when they reached the room. Wayfinder handed it to Blades.

He sipped. “I thought you didn’t sell high grade,” he said with suspicion.

“We don’t. That’s from Quid’s private stock,” Wayfinder told him, pulling out some scented wax. “She keeps some on hand for herself once in a while. I think you need it, so drink up.” He waited while Blades drained the cube. “I’d like to give you a wax to help you relax. Can you handle that?”

“I’ll try.” Wayfinder coaxed him to the table and as he began working over Blades’ back, he could feel the shame and pain. The rotary relaxed at the gentle touch and gentle field from the non-threatening mech soothed him. “Did anyone tell you how Quid got the club from Swindle?” he asked. Blades knew something about it but wanted the details.

“So Smokescreen waited until all of you were safe, then exposed Swindle,” Blades said. “So why did he go back?”

“So Swindle wouldn’t suspect anything. Swindle cared about his offspring, but he barely tolerated Illusion, and he hated me. Carrier was afraid Swindle might come after one of us if he suspected anything. But someone in his organization got wind of it and tipped him off. He grabbed Carrier and took off for a bolthole, but the enforcers were right behind them, and in the end, he brought a building down on both of them. “

“So Swindle went to the bad in the end.” He sighed. “For a long time he stayed legit. Smokescreen and I stayed in touch for a while, while Vortex was still alive, and Smokescreen was sure of that. It wasn’t until after the mist incident that his greed started getting hold of him again.”

“He made a ton of credits,” Wayfinder said, “but the administration confiscated all of it. Part of Carrier’s bargain with the Enforcers was that Sharpster and Quid and their businesses would be left alone, and they honored that. They used some of Swindle's credits to help his victims.”

“Victims?’

“The ones he forced into prostitution.”

Blades keened. Memories poured out of him. Wayfinder rode out the storm, letting the tormented rotary purge his spark-felt pain. After the death of Vortex, only Hover kept Blades going. When Hover left, Blades fell into depression and apathy, and simply let Onslaught do what he wanted with him.

That included selling him for interface whenever they needed credits, always to single Decepticons, most often Seekers. 

Then came the night that Onslaught came very overcharged, called Blades Vortex and interfaced him into a painful overload and a spark-merge.  He left the next orn for Vos, where he would work for a vorn until his work tax was completed. The knowledge of the new life beginning brought Blades out of his apathy enough that when Hover came to see him, Blades dared to leave.

When Blades wore down and fell into recharge, Wayfinder contacted Rider and arranged for Blades to be seen by two of the detailers, both second generation neutrals with lavender optics. He contacted Quid and asked her to make the report.

She did, leaving instructions that someone was to keep an ear out for when Blades woke, and to send Enforcer Tronis to her. When Tronis arrived, they found out that no one had seen Wayfinder in some time. They  searched for the older brother who raised Quid, finally locating him in the rehearsal room. It took her a while to see him, as he sat on a bench in the darkest corner,  curled into a tight ball. Tronis' spark twisted when he saw the normally calm and cheerful dancer.  “Finder,” Quid called, on the com and vocally. “Finder, come out of it.”

“What’s wrong?” Tronis asked.

“He was in contact with Carrier when Sire killed them both,” she said briefly. “Blades reminded him.”

 

Wayfinder remembered.

“Finder! Finder, my sweetspark, listen I don’t have much time.”   Then static. “I knew he might kill me- I don’t care as long as all of you are safe- “ static-“Swindle finally told what happened. He changed-“ static again- “optics. You were conceived in the mist-“ static-“ Your sire-“ static-“ Decepticon-“ static- “tell your siblings I love them-“ and then the intense, brief pain. Then nothing.

It still hurt. He loved Smokescreen so much, and he knew his budding started Swindle down the path that destroyed both of them.

Then Quid’s voice finally penetrated, “-I need you, Finder, we all need you. Come out of it, please, you’re scaring me.” He let his optics power up and moved stiffly to see both Quid and Tronis hovering protectively over him. She offered the high grade. He sipped and gagged.

“How can you drink this stuff?” he asked, and both Tronis and Quid broke into relieved laughter. 


	4. A Search, and a Find

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blades begins a search, and the database makes a find.

Wayfinder gazed in awe at the being that stood in front of him. It was not only the size of Defensor that impressed him; it was the way the combination of the five Protectobots into one being felt to him. Part of what he picked up from Blades was a profound feeling of being unworthy to be part of his gestalt, which puzzled him. He spoke to Skydive, who looked thoughtful and contacted Blades’ gestalt mates. The result stood in front of him.

When Defensor fell back in to its five components, they mobbed both Wayfinder and Skydive with hugs for bringing them together again. “We all needed this,” Hot Spot said. “We let the Decepticons keep us apart when we were created to be together.”

“No,” Skydive said swiftly. “This new life drew you apart. The demands of family and new careers drew you apart.” He paused. “Remember on Earth how this kind of thing happened with the humans all the time. “

“But they limit us,” Hot Spot protested. “You don’t see it here, Skydive. The mechs limit carriers, and all Autobots are carriers!”

“That started because there were so few carriers,” Skywise reminded him. He sighed. “It’s the downside of the purification. Part of that is a drive to renew Cybertron. Renewing Cybertron means renewing the population. Only carriers can do that.” As Hot Spot started to protest again, he held up a hand. “That will change, soon. All of you know why, correct?” They nodded. “At the same time, come here to combine until the others come home. When that happens, with the force of numbers and the Prime on our side, we can make some changes.”

Everyone at the club noticed the change in Blades. The younger, less experienced detailers asked that Rider come in and advise them. Blades managed to get through the session. With a lot of help from Wayfinder, he began to open up, especially to Bluestreak and Fireflight.

When Wayfinder comforted Blades, he shared that last conversation with his creator with Blades. Blades made a connection that Wayfinder did not- that Wayfinder was conceived during the mist incident.

The mist incident was a grim memory for the first generation carriers. At the beginning, everyone believed that  all of the second generation would  be able to carry and sire, but the percentage of carriers to non-carriers was only slightly higher in the second generation than in the first. The Decepticon partners began encouraging their carrier partners to bud for each other, assuring the carriers that they would treat the result as their own offspring.  The carriers gathered in an open field to discuss this disturbing behavior. They discovered that Megatron offered a remittance in the rebuilding tax if the non-carrier partner would encourage their carrier partners to bud for another carrier, in the hopes of gaining more carriers, as long as the Decepticon partner treated the offspring as their own.

They did not know that when this attempt showed no signs of success, Megatron offered a reward for anyone with ideas on how to persuade the carriers to try. He managed to keep this offer from the Prime and the carriers. A few neutrals found out about the meeting, and brought a gas with an aphrodisiac effect to the field. It was old, and the valve broke down, blanketing the field with the gas. Every carrier who attended wound up sparked that day.

The neutrals died of an overdose of the drug, to the disappointment of almost every mech on the field because it deprived them of the chance to tear them apart. The carriers planned to stage a rebellion over the way society tended to restrict them, as most of their offspring were old enough to be independent. The influx of so many new lives destroyed those plans. Worse, Optimus Prime lost his sparkling almost immediately, with a devastating effect on his function for some time. 

Blades and his gestalt wanted to do something for Wayfinder in exchange for the renewal of Defensor. Bluestreak, Bumblebee, and Fireflight talked to Blades and First Aid, and suddenly they shared a mission. Hot Spot came in and spoke to Quid and Sharpster. They embraced the idea enthusiastically, but wanted it to be a surprise to Wayfinder.

Everyone knew that a sire could tell when an offspring was his when their fields engaged. Because Wayfinder was raised in the Temple, and then worked in the outskirts of Kaon, he never met many of the first generation Autobots.

The conspirators started by making a list of all the carriers involved in the mist incident.  They eliminated the ones they knew met Wayfinder and began the mission to find Wayfinder’s sire.

 

The club was open, but this was the quiet time, between the midday crowd looking for energon before going back to work, and the evening customers. Quid, Tronis, and Hover sat in one of the booths while Spin stocked the bar and tended the few scattered customers. Two seemed to be working out a contract while a third nibbled on rust sticks and read a datapad.

“Tronis, where do we stand with Creator?” Hover asked anxiously. “I mean, Sire abused him,” and stopped because his voicalizer spat static. He stopped and let it reset, “Sire abused him, but he’s carrying.”

Tronis sipped from his cube. “I filed the report and talked to Skydive and Barricade,” he reported. “They found the filed contract, which as the standard wording about abuse of a carrier. Onslaught violated the cohort contract when he abused Blades, which means he’s lost his claim as sire of the sparkling. Blade will have to choose a cohort or partner within a vorn or so after the birth, though.  The Council will never allow a first generation carrier stay unpartnered.”

“We’ve put him through the database, and there are two cohorts who will happily accept Blades and the sparkling,” Quid said. “Both the cohorts have carriers who work here so they know how to handle traumatized carriers. They’re good mechs.”  Hover gave her a grateful look.

Tronis wondered if he was seeing a partnership or cohort forming in front of his optics. “How is Wayfinder holding up?” he asked.

“He says that Fireflight will bud ina deca-orn, and Bluestreak will be right behind him,” Quid said. “In the meantime, Bumblebee is coming with them after he almost budded early, and Blades still needs training and a lot of help. I didn’t want him to take on Bumblebee, but he insisted.  Finder’s still working the bar two nights a week training another new mech. With all that, it’s a wonder he still manages to get in a dance a week.” She sighed. “Bumblebee brought him a lot of music from that organic planet that Finder likes a lot, and he’s working up some kind of routine with a lot of lights and that stick thing he dances with.”

Hover nodded, then grinned. “And in the meantime my sire, Bluestreak, Bumblebee and Fireflight are managing to drag every possible first generation carrier they know through the club to meet Wayfinder. I have no idea why they latched onto that idea, but they’re sure having a great time working on it. They’re determined to find his sire. He thinks that Wayfinder should know so he can have more choice in finding a partner.”

Quid had an odd look on her face. Tronis asked why. “I think Wayfinder needs to know who his sire is,” she said, sounding troubled, “but I’m also sure that both Skydive and Creator would have looked. Both of them were first generation, and they never found who it was.” She vented. “That, and time’s running out. He’s got to have a partner in less than a vorn. I hate the idea of losing him, and not just because I’ll miss him. After all, I’m sure his partner would let his family keep in contact. But his dancing is the biggest draw we have. Oh, the club would stay in business, but the profit would drop for a while. “

“But he always says he loves dancing,” Hover said, bewildered. “He says it’s his release, and all you have to do is watch him. That’s half the fun of watching him, is seeing how much joy he takes in the dance. Why would a partner take that away from him?”

Tronis wanted to hit the heliformer. Of course he could care less; he had no family to object, or family with political connections that might be hurt, if his Autobot carrier partner danced in public.  As the list of possible carriers went up, the number of rivals escalated. With the search, the word about the club was spreading. Both Sharpster and Quid’s businesses increased as a result.

If only he could find a way for Wayfinder to dance and yet have no backlash that would hurt his sir or creator! He knew Wayfinder would accept a contract if he could just make that offer.

None of them knew that the search had one other unexpected, unwanted result.

 

In the highest tower of the Seeker’s compound, Skywarp and Thundercracker were visiting Starscream while their partners visited the club. Thundercracker described how search for the missing sire was going.  Starscream stared at his trinemates. “If he was conceived at the mist incident,” he said, “he’s vorns past the age where he’s required to partner.” There was a gleam in his optics. “We’ve needed someone to set an example with.”

Immediately both Thundercracker and Skywarp’s expressions darkened. Thundercracker growled, “Fireflight still has another deca-orn before he can bud safely, and Sweetwings said the longer he can carry the better. And that dancer’s the reason he’s held on. You will not touch him!”

“Neither of us would ever hear the end of it from Sweetwings if you do anything to that dancer,” Skywarp informed him, his wings moving in agitation. “She said he’s the only reason Bluestreak and Bumblebee have held on to their sparklings.”

  “Besides, he’s in the database already, with no matches,” Thundercracker added. “The entire council agreed that until there are matches, the administration will hold off enforcing that ordinance.”

Starscream gave. “All right, I’ll back off. But when those sparklings are budded, I expect to hear that he’s got a contract, or he’s going to be an example of what happens when a carrier defies the Council.”

 

Hover arrived at the club and hurried to the bar. Spin caught sight of him. “Head on upstairs and see your new sibling,” he advised.

“Already? I just got word he was ready to bud!” He had barely gotten into his office when the message came. 

“Seems she was in a hurry,” Spin said. “Midwife’s up there now.”

Hover almost flew up. When he arrived, he found Wayfinder holding the sparkling outside Blades’ quarters. “Midwife’s checking Blades out,” he said. Hover peered at the bundle, and Wayfinder shifted the sparkling so he could get a better look. “She’s going to be a heliformer, like you,” he added. The sparkling looked back at him, her purple optics curious.

Hover reached out to touch her. She grabbed his digit and he smiled. “She’s so tiny!”

Wayfinder laughed. “For a sparkling she’s a good size,” he said. “I helped take care of Quid and Illusion, and they were smaller.” The door opened, and the midwife waved them both in. Propped up in the berth, Blades held out his arms and Wayfinder gave him the sparkling.

“Everything looks good,” the midwife said. “I’ll send over a few cubes of medical grade energon, enough for a few orns, and after that you can go back to the regular mid-grade. Stay off the high-grade while you’re fueling the sparkling.” Turning to Wayfinder and Hover, he added, “He needs to be off work until the sparkling is recharging through the night, which should be in about two deca-orns. You know the drill, Finder.” He packed up his kit and subspaced it.

When the midwife was gone, Blades said, “I’m going to miss your new dance tonight.” Both creator and sparkling were already nodding into recharge.

“I’ll record it for you,” Hover promised.

The lights faded from the stage and the main lights came up when Onslaught shoved the doorkeeper out of the way and plowed into the dance floor. “Where is he?” he snarled. “Where’s Blades?”

“Sire!” Hover moved to confront Onslaught. “This isn’t the best time to-“

“I got this,” Onslaught waved a datapad, “saying I got a sparkling coming. Where is he?”

Someone in the crowd said, “I thought the sparkling came today.”

Onslaught hissed. “I want to see it,” he said. “I got a right.” A murmur came through the crowd, agreeing.  Quid came up and tried to get Onslaught to come up to her office.  Wayfinder slid through the crowd and grabbed Tronis when Hover appeared with the sparkling.

“I have my sibling,” he said. Onslaught looked down at the tiny form. She opened her purple optics and looked at him.

“No,” he hissed, and in the next astrosecond, Hover flew back as Onslaught grabbed the sparkling. “No offspring with mixed blood!” he shouted, and raised her above his head. She started wailing.  Tronis moved up as fast as possible, but the floor was crowded. Wayfinder slipped away.

“What am I, Sire?” Hover shouted, scrambling to his pedes. “You never said that about me, how is she different?”

Onslaught looked down at him. “The Autobot was never your creator,” he said. “Little fool, Vortex was your creator. He off-lined budding you. Primus, you look so much like him.”

Then he lurched forward, as Wayfinder’s stick slammed into the back of his knees. Hover leaped and flew, snatching his howling sibling from Onslaught. With the sparkling out of the way, Tronis slammed his fist into Onslaught, bringing him down. The crowd surged up and piled on him until Tronis got the stasis cuffs on and hauled him to the door where other enforcers on duty took him away.

Hover landed by Wayfinder, holding the sparkling and just as upset. Wayfinder took the sparkling, pinged the sound system for a lullaby, and began moving, reaching for the music and movement to calm down. He reached out to Hover and the sparkling, pulling comfort from the music and movement and sending it out in pulses. Mechs moved out of the way, watching as he moved into his calming routine with the sparkling going from wails, to whimpers, and finally to recharge. When she was quiet, he looked around to see everyone standing in a circle around him, watching. Quid waved at him and he headed to her, the enforcer waiting to take a report and Hover, taking the sparkling back to Blades.

In the upper rooms, Wayfinder waited to make his report, his spark heavy. When Hover’s information was updated in the database, he knew it would make the match, and wondered if he made a terrible mistake.

When he went home and thought over the incident, Tronis marveled at how calm seemed to spread from Wayfinder to everyone else in the room. Then he remembered about the mist incident. He had just joined the enforcers at the time, and he vaguely remembered something about one of the mechs that few ever knew. He commed Hot Spot, whose team was one of the first to the scene at the mist incident. “Spot,” he asked, “was there a Decepticon at the mist incident?” He named the mech.

“Yes,” Hot Spot agreed, puzzled. “Not many people know, but he was there. Why do you ask?”

“I know who Wayfinder’s sire is,” Tronis sent back.

“His optics are the wrong color.”  All Decepticon offspring had purple or red optics.

“Maybe not,” Tronis answered, and left, hope rising in his spark.

 

 

 

 


	5. Matters Move too Fast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wayfinder, Hover and Quid work out contracts, Fireflight and Co bud, and Starscream takes action.

 

Harmony hurried. When he came into the office, Sharpster looked up, surprised. “It’s Wayfinder,” he said, waving a datapad. “He’s got a match!” He smiled, expecting joyous relief from his partner.

“Finally?” Sharpster snatched the datapad. He stared at the result. “Primus.”  Harmony’s exuberance faded at his lack of response.

“Who is it?” Illusion asked, coming up behind Harmony.

Sharpster looked up. “Hover.” He vented.

“So,” Illusion said into the stunned silence, “are you going to tell Quid, or are you going to dump it on me?”

 

Quid already knew.

After getting the sparkling back to Blades, Quid noticed Wayfinder stayed quiet. She nagged until he told her why. Making the report distracted all of them. She went to her berth, but recharge did not come.

She suspected some time ago that Wayfinder and Illusion got into the database and worked the parameters so that it would be almost impossible to find him a match, but she kept her mouthplates shut. All of her existence, Wayfinder took care of her. She knew that her creator Smokescreen loved her, and her sire at least cared about her, but Swindle needed Smokescreen to run his legitimate businesses. Even as a young sparkling, Quid saw how jealously Swindle watched if Smokescreen gave any other being too much attention, even his own offspring. Wayfinder cared for her, protected and advised her, and stood as her strong anchor.

 She knew, better than anyone except perhaps Illusion, how much her sire hated Wayfinder and how much that hurt him. She understood how he and Smokescreen managed to keep Swindle from corrupting her, and to a lesser degree, Sharpster.  She loved him fiercely. When she got the title to the club from Swindle, she gave a percentage of the business to Wayfinder and vowed to let him go whenever he asked and do whatever he needed no matter how much it cost her.

Now the time came, and the sacrifice was worse than she ever expected.

Sweetwings came to visit Bluestreak at the club and dragged her aside when she got a chance. “Starscream’s got word that Wayfinder’s older than the records say he is,” she told Quid. “Thundercracker and I can keep him off your backs until Fireflight and Bluestreak bud, but after that, he’s going to pounce.”

She researched the Council’s policy. If a creator did not find a partner within that time period, they required that the creator enroll in a database and accept the first candidate that came up as a match. If the database did not find a match, they would investigate and reset the parameters for a match, then chose a match out of the ones that came up for the creator, without giving him a choice.

Why did his only match have to be the only mech she ever cared about?

Hover appeared at her office the next day. “I owe him,” Hover said to her. “I owe him for Creator, and I owe him for my little sibling.”  He vented deeply. “And I know that sooner or later he’s going into the priesthood, and that he’ll be understanding about us.” She nodded, her despair lifting. If Wayfinder was accepted into the priesthood, all his former contracts would be dissolved.

“We can wait,” she agreed quietly. “It’s not like we don’t have time.” She called Wayfinder in. “We need to work out a contact,” she said.

“Two,” he said, surprising them both. He looked from one of them to the other and smiled faintly. “Hover, if your creator was Vortex, then you have a higher chance of being a carrier. Quid’s not.” She nodded. Smokescreen urged her to check early on, for her own protection. Femme described her body shape, not her ability to carry.  “So we’ll need two. One for Hover and I, and one for Hover and you.”

“What will you do if I’m a carrier?” Hover asked, anxiously.

“I’ll contact Tronis,” Wayfinder said. “He told me that anytime I’m willing to stop dancing, he’ll partner with me. He said he would anyway but his family can’t allow otherwise- something about politics and he can’t explain further until I’m ready to court.”  He pulled a datapad out of subspace. “Here’s what I came up with so far for both contracts.” They discussed terms for about a joor. When they were satisfied, Quid went to make arrangements for the club’s management while she was out. Since Hover needed testing, he and Wayfinder started out, but before they got out the door, Wayfinder got a comm. “I have to go. Fireflight’s about to bud, and he’s asking for me.”

“I’ll contact you as soon as I know anything,” Hover promised.

“You might have to leave a message,” Wayfinder warned him. “They don’t allow long-range coms at the infirmary and this might take some time. Most buddings don’t happen as fast as Blades.”

While most carriers budded at home with a midwife in attendance now, those with budding issues still went to the infirmaries. He found not only Fireflight, but Bluestreak and Bumblebee there. “Thank Primus,” Sweetwater said when he arrived. “I’ve got all of them in the same room. Stay with them and keep them calm. I’ve got monitors on all of them and I’ll either come in or send someone when the budding starts. Can you handle that?” He nodded. “Please disable your long-term comm while you’re in the infirmary. The partners know to ping you so you can go out and talk to them.”

“They didn’t want to be here?” Wayfinder asked.

“Every other time these guys had to bud a creator, they cursed their partners from start to finish,” she admitted, somewhat abashed. “I figured they’d do better with you here to run interference.”

“I’ve helped with budding before,” Wayfinder told her, remembering how Smokescreen cursed the administration and Swindle as he budded Illusion.

“You help me and them through this, and we’ll talk about your future afterward,” she said, and dashed off after showing him into the room while he wondered what she meant by that. He moved from one to the other. Occasionally he soothed a field but for the most part they took comfort in their friends and Wayfinder’s presence. Occasionally one of the partners pinged him and he went out to deal with them.

Half an orn later, he cradled Bumblebee’s mech, the last to be budded. When Sweetwings stepped back, he moved forward and laid the yellow and grey sparkling on his creator’s chestplates. His partner Bonecrusher came in, moving slowly and speaking in a subdued tone. He gave Wayfinder a grateful look as the dancer eased out of the room.  Bluestreak and Fireflight had already moved to private rooms with their partners in attendance. He met Sweetwings in the hall. “I need to contact Hover,” he told her. “We were supposed to meet in the Temple.”

“I need to speak with you about that,” she said, and led him off to a private meeting room. When he saw the Winglord, he knew what the news was before Sweetwings said, “I got word from Skydive just before the Winglord came over.” She shot Starscream a poisonous look. “Hover is a carrier. He and Quid registered their contract.”

His spark fell to his pedes. “Yes, we all agreed to that. I need to contact Enforcer Tronis.”

“Oh no,” Starscream said, his tone silky. “I believe it’s a bit late for that.”

Thundercracker came in. “Wait, Starscream,” he said interrupting the Winglord. “Fireflight just told me. He and the others have been trying to find Wayfinder’s sire. They managed to drag every creator who was at the mist incident past him. “

“Which means?” Starscream snapped.

“It means that his sire wasn’t an Autobot,” Thundercracker said. “All of them are certain of it. “

“And Illusion, who is my Lightstorm’s partner and Wayfinder’s silbing, says that he hasn’t been tested yet,” Sweetwings added. “Before you shove your pedes in your intakes, you might want to be sure of what you’re dealing with.”

Starscream hissed. “All right then.” He turned to Wayfinder. “Until such time as testing can be done, the Council takes responsibility for arranging a partnership for you.  And until we do, you are not going back to that club.”

“If Wayfinder can go with him, Fireflight can go home tonight and sleep in his own berth,” Sweetwings decreed. “And by Primus, Starscream, whatever you set up, you better make sure that partner is willing do have a medic or midwife as his carrier.” She turned to a stunned Wayfinder. “Carrier or not, you should be working with the medics with that remarkable talent, not wasting it at a club tending bar and dancing!” She huffed.  “First Aid and I will both sponsor you to medic’s training.”

“We’ve all had a hard orn,” Thundercracker said. “Several of my offspring have our quarters ready for their carrier and their new sibling. Starscream, you know our compound is set up for fliers, and Wayfinder will be secure there.” He turned to Wayfinder. “All of my offspring are partnered, so you can feel safe.”

 Wayfinder nodded, unable to speak.  He followed Thundercracker to Fireflight’s room, where Skywarp appeared to warp them to Thundercracker’s tower quarters.

Three sets of Seekers with their various partners plied their sire, guest, and creator with cubes, admired the new arrival, and got Fireflight, the sparkling, and Wayfinder into berthrooms to rest. Wayfinder remained quiet, let the family show him around and express their gratitude, and held on to his control with all his might. Within a few joors, the tower became quiet as Fireflight’s offspring departed.

Then he got up from his berth and began his stretches to relieve his rage. As he moved, his processor ranged between furious resentment and a frantic hope.

As he moved through his arm stretches, he mused over who his sire could be, and decided that he was no worse off than before. With blue optics, his sire could not be a Decepticon. Maybe it was one of the neutrals who released the gas, but they were long dead.

He felt touched that the carriers he helped wanted to give back to him by finding his sire. He never tried, because if he found who his Autobot sire was, his sire’s partner might challenge Quid’s status as his protector and therefore claim the right to find a partner for him. He fended off enough courting offers at the club to know his value.

He reflected a short time over Sweetwater’s warning about his testing while he worked through his torso contortions. Yes, he told Harmony what he told many suitors, that his spark resonance was different. They all assumed what Harmony did, that there was a strong chance he could not carry, a possibility that strengthened with the fact that he did not have an Autobot sire.  Even Quid accepted that possibility. The only one who did not was Sharpster, who watched his creator, sire, and later his sibling master the art of telling just enough of the truth to mislead, and stop.

For once in his existence, Wayfinder reflected, Sharpster was right; Wayfinder was probably a carrier.  The high priest himself stood in the chapel the first time Wayfinder made his petition, and got the same answer he would get for vorns: not now. “I know that the time will come,” he told Wayfinder. “Even without testing, I know that your spark has a difference resonance. It is exceptionally strong. Cultivate patience, young one, and know that you are welcome here at any time.”

Hope rose in him as he considered Sweetwater’s offer- more like a demand, he processed wryly, as he moved through the leg exercises. Could he fit in as a medic or midwife? Tronis said he should try, but Wayfinder doubted he would be allowed to apply. Decepticon carriers were encouraged to be healers and midwives; Autobot carriers were not.

Then, as he worked slowly through several of his dance moves, he raged at the Winglord’s presumptions. What gave that winged monster the right to meddle in his life? The Lord Protector and the Prime entrusted the Council to manage Kaon in their absence, not to enact their pet programs. Why did they think that the entire population of carriers needed to carry right now?

At this moment, he was balanced on his servos. He focused on rising to his digits when he sensed another presence. Carefully, he dropped back to his servos, and then lowered his chassis down to his pedes. Standing, he turned to see who watched him. Starscream stood in the doorway. “Is that one of your dances?” he asked, sounding awed.

Wayfinder found release in his laughter. “No, Winglord,” he said. “These are stretching routines. I use them to settle myself after a hard orn.”

“Remarkable,” the Winglord said. “Since you’re still online, I would like to speak with you. Come with me.” He led Wayfinder to a room with transparent walls and ceiling. He indicated the view. “When you look down, young one, what do you see?”

Wayfinder stepped over and looked around. He could see the city, spread out in every direction. “I see Kaon,” he said, puzzled.

“This was Kaon, two generations ago,” Starscream said, and a hologram appeared. Wayfinder stared in horrified fascination at the ruins. This looked as bad as the ruins of Vos. “Better? Yes. For two generations, we have rebuilt Kaon and Iacon, started on Vos with some improvement, and looked at Praxus. Now, look at these.”

One by one, he showed Wayfinder the cities from the past. Wayfinder gazed in wonder at the beauty of Kaon’s elite areas, and flinched at the site of a gladiator fight, feeling sick. He murmured in awe at the sight of Iacon’s Towers, and saw the contrast in the workers laboring at the docks. Vos and Praxus showed contrasts though not as stark. “I am showing you this so you can see what we lost, and why we lost it,” Starscream went on. “Megatron was the gladiator. Optimus Prime, once Orion Pax, was the worker at the docks.”

“Why are you showing me this?” Wayfinder asked quietly. “What do you want from me?”

“Without knowing our past, we risk making the same mistakes in our future,” Starscream told him. “I am not pushing you, or the other carriers, on any kind of whim, young one.” He walked to the wall and looked out. “We have only just begun to rebuild,” he said softly. “I want to see Cybertron thrive again. But I want to see it thrive without the rot that ate us alive and nearly destroyed us.” He turned back to Wayfinder.The empath sensed his deep regret and his determination. “I fear war coming back to us, young one. We are not weak in resolve, but in numbers.” Wayfinder felt his resolve and his iron belief that he was right and what he did was necessary.  “I know that if I am wrong, young one, there is not much harm done. If I am right, then we have no time at all to coddle you.  We must build our population, and build it now.” He looked out at Kaon again. “I want to know that if I lead my fellow warriors out to defend Cybertron again, that there will be those to keep this rebuilding going after me.”

Wayfinder understood Starscream’s vision. He did not agree with his methods. He also knew that argument would get him nowhere. He could not tell the Winglord that his fears were groundless without telling him how he knew- which might make matters worse. Given the choice of trusting this driven leader, and the Prime, he must give his trust to the Prime. Instead, he bowed his head and said nothing. Faintly the sound of a sparkling squawking for refueling came to the room. Starscream laughed.

“And so reality intrudes to this deep thought,” he mocked lightly. “Go and recharge, young one, and I will do the same. Next orn is soon enough to deal with the future. Just know that I am not a monster wanting to prove my personal power.”

Wayfinder did as the Winglord advised. Starscream watched him go, satisfied that he achieved that one goal with the lovely grounder. He contacted the Temple, requesting that someone who could test a mech’s spark for the dancer, and received a prompt response.

“Now why would they want this done in front of the entire Council?” he wondered, irritated. That would take all orn to arrange!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Matters slow down and progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starscream learns he moved too fast, and Wayfinder meets a cassette

Starscream was wrong.

Before he could set up any kind of meeting with the Council, the Prime contacted all of the Council members as a group for an urgent message, saying that he was coming to Kaon in ten orns with important news regarding the activity in the asteroids, with a witness. When the Prime signed off, Starscream arranged for the Council to meet a few joors prior to the Prime’s arrival for other business. As he lived in the same compound, he visited Thundercracker later that orn.

He found Wayfinder in the refueling area, with Silverbolt, Fireflight, Bluestreak and the new sparklings. He informed Wayfinder of the delay and that he was arranging for him to stay at the Retention Center.

 Fireflight started howling, which set his sparkling wailing. Bluestreak shouted, which set his sparkling crying. Silverbolt and Sweetwings both grabbed the Winglord and shoved him out of the room where they promptly started yelling. Thundercracker rushed in, drawn by the noise. Fireflight and Bluestreak jumped on him as Wayfinder tried to calm the sparklings.  Several astroseconds later, Skywarp warped in and warped out with them. “You scrap- head,” he told a chastened Starscream in the safety of his office at the spa.

“That young mech has deliberately flouted the Council’s ordinance to find a partner by over seven vorns!”

Thundercracker interrupted, “So you have to jump on him not even a joor after he had just gotten four different carriers, all of them at risk of budding early, through very difficult carrying, with the end result that all of them budded safely with four healthy sparklings.”

“I waited until they budded, like you asked,” Starscream said sullenly.

“You could have waited another orn or so! But no, you jump on the mech the moment he’s available, when Fireflight and his sparkling are still recovering from budding!”

“Not to mention Bluestreak, which means Sweetwings is mad at you and when she’s mad at you she yells at me!” He paused when his viewscreen buzzed and went to answer it.

“I’m taking him,” Starscream said stubbornly when Skyward called him over to the viewscreen.

Barricade said, “Thank Primus, this is the third call I’ve made. Streetwise told me you arrested Wayfinder because he hasn’t partnered yet and you want to bring him to the detention center. Tell me he’s wrong.”

“That mech violated-“

“You glitch! I will not, absolutely not under any circumstances bring a mech into detention for not choosing a partner fast enough to suit the Council. The ordinance says that the Council is responsible for finding a suitable partner, and no mech is going to find a partner sitting in the detention center.”

“So where am I supposed to send him?” Starscream shouted back.

“Send him home and put him under house arrest. Half my officers go to the club for their mid-shift break, they can check up on him.”

 “He is not going back to that club,” Starscream insisted. “He’s wasted there. Sweetwings is sponsoring him to medical training.”

“He is not wasted there. Quid’s club is one of the best resources we have for resettling abused carriers. The Temple trained Wayfinder in how to help them get past the trauma and find good partners or cohorts.  And do you know who heads that department? Tronis!”

“If you’re throwing a fit because one of your enforcers wants to court the mech, let the mech apply for partnership,” Starscream snapped.  “He’s not going back to that club. Any mech who wants to be considered will have to apply to the Council for consideration. You can tell your enforcer that.”  He paused. “I will tell the ones running the program to be sure your enforcer is considered,” he added reluctantly, “if he’s compatible.”

“I’ll tell Tronis. But if you’re not sending Wayfinder home, you can slagging well find him somewhere safe to go,” Barricade told him and cut the connection.

The vidscreen lit up again. Skywarp answered. The caller had all of them standing in respect. “Starscream. I require information on a particular mech, designation Wayfinder. It seems that my offspring is interested in taking the mech for a partner.” Starscream drew in air and explained the situation. The called considered. “Megatronis has waited far too long to find a partner and get some offspring budded.  Go through all the motions,” the Lord Protector decreed. “Then see to it that my son is the one who is chosen.”

 When the screen went dead, the trine looked at each other. “He can stay with Fireflight,” Thundercracker offered. “See if you can free up some credits for his keep from the Council funds somehow. That ought to calm everyone down at least until we know for sure he can carry.”

“I’ll lean on the Temple to send someone,” Starscream said. “Later.”

He did not look forward to going home tonight.   

 

 Skydive flew in to see his brother Fireflight and his new sparkling, who Fireflight named Hope. After admiring the sturdy sparkling, he slipped out to find Wayfinder in the room with the view of Kaon, staring out. The moment he saw his mentor, the dancer started to keen softly. Skydive hugged him, letting the young one he helped raise and loved as his own offspring relieve some of the terrible stress placed on him. When Wayfinder managed to calm a little, Skydive let go and stroked his cheek.

“Better?” Wayfinder nodded. “I know it’s only confirming what we already know, Finder, but let me do an informal test.” They got the results they expected. “All right, we’ve confirmed you can create. Now let me give you the latest news.” He switched to the com and sent a databurst.

Wayfinder processed it. “So I’m a distraction,” he said glumly. “I have to sit here, doing nothing and wondering what kind of mech the Council will force on me.”

 “It gives us a chance to stop this ordinance once and for all, if matters work out the way we hope.” He vented. “If nothing else, you should get some rest.”

The tower stayed quiet during the day, with only Fireflight and Hope, the new sparkling. Fireflight recovered quickly from his budding and enjoyed caring for his new sparkling. There was no one to care for and no work to do. He missed the bustle of the club, the music, the noise of dancers on the floor and several mechs talking and laughing.

At the club, where young mechs came to dance and play games and spend time with their friends, the atmosphere was filled with positive feelings and thoughts. Those who felt otherwise often made their way to the bar to pour out their problems to the lovely sympathetic bartender, and left feeling better.

With nothing to else to do, Wayfinder brooded over his possible future. When Sweetwings came to check on Fireflight, he confided that he was worried about Wayfinder.  While the Winglord blocked Quid and Sharpster from contacting their sibling, Sweetwings brought Illusion two orns later. “The bad news is, they found out that you helped set up the system, and found out how we set up your specifications. Sharpster was pretty embarrassed. He yelled at me for a while.”

Wayfinder vented. “Sorry about that. “

Illusion hissed. “I’m not. I told him to shut up or I’d leave and go to work for Quid at the club or Skywarp at the spa. He shut up. I run the office better than he does and he knows it.”

Wayfinder managed to smile. “Nice to know he’s not that much of a fool.” The smile faded quickly. “He was right. He said stalling would catch up to me, and now it has.”

They stood in the windowed room and looked out at Kaon. Illusion said, “Well, let me tell you the better news.” Wayfinder nodded. “Of course all the customers wanted to know why you were off the dance schedule, and Quid told the staff to tell anyone who asked what happened.” He pulled a datapad from subspace and handed it to Wayfinder. “Seems like the Council putting you under arrest has started something.”

The datapad opened to a public forum with an angry petition protesting the ordinance forcing carriers to partner by a certain age. “I think the detailers in the club started it, but it blew up from there. I think half of Kaon’s signed it by now.” Wayfinder scrolled down. The list of names looked impressive. He noted that every single first generation carrier signed, starting with Starscream’s partner Silverbolt, but they accounted for less than a fifth of the signatures.

Some of Wayfinder’s depression lifted. At least the Winglord would learn how unpopular his policy was. “Maybe that will help,” he said.

“Not just that,” Illusion said. “Remember how we used to check and see how many matches you would get if we moved the restrictions around?” Wayfinder nodded. “Well, I wish the Council luck in dealing with the list now. It’s over a hundred. Wonder how long it’ll take them to sort that mess out?”  Soon after Wayfinder watched them leave, and wondered wistfully if Tronis’ name was still at the top of the list.

Early the next day, Fireflight said, “Skywarp is bringing someone to talk to you about the search results.” His temper frayed by this time, Wayfinder expressed his opinion of the Council in less than flattering terms. Fireflight listened, astounded. “Wow, I haven’t heard anyone curse like that since Ratchet died,” he said with admiration. “But be nice to Rewind, OK? He was one of Blaster’s cassettes.” He explained about cassettes.

Despite Fireflight’s explanation, Wayfinder marveled that a grown mech could be so small, coming only to Wayfinder’s medsection.  “I’m Rewind,” the olive-colored mech said “The Council asked me to speak to you in an effort to narrow down the partner choices.”

Curious, Wayfinder expanded his field as they walked over to the windowed room. Rewind hurt, with a chronic, constant sense of loss. Fireflight’s explanation made a little more sense. He answered the smaller mech’s questions, amused that he was getting the same interview he was used to giving.

After the formal interview, he reached out to see if he could sooth the smaller mech’s pain. To his astonishment, their fields meshed quickly. Rewind reacted. When Fireflight came to check on them, he found Wayfinder hugging the smaller mech, who keened softly against him.

“Thanks,” he said, when Wayfinder let him go. “That helped. It’s been hard since Blaster died.” He contacted the Seeker enforcer who brought him. “I’ll look for that application, and do what I can,” he promised before he left.

Silverbolt came over. “Flight,” he said when he was sure no Decepticon was around, “can you sense them?”

Fireflight nodded. “They’re a lot closer,” he said softly. “Maybe they’re coming home?”

“Please, Primus,” Silverbolt said. He reached out and took Hope before looking at Wayfinder.

“Skydive told me,” he said evenly. “He also said to be careful who you speak to.”

Silverbolt laughed. “I’m partnered to Starscream,” he said. “Believe me, I know when to stay quiet.” He vented. “I’m sure my partner talked about his great fear of the future,” he added. Wayfinder nodded. “He’s lying. Worse, he’s lying to himself. When the War ended like it did, the Decepticons were in charge. They want to stay in charge. Being purified didn’t change Starscream’s ambition so much as it changed how he focused it.”

“I know that,” Wayfinder said quietly. “But between being in charge and being purified, and kept away from violence and war, the Decepticons and Autobots on Cybertron did integrate. Both sides shared in the rebuilding, shared lives, shared offspring. A full generation has never known war and the hate and pain it brings, and the first generation will go to war only to defend Cybertron.”

Silverbolt vented. “That doesn’t change Starscream from being a manipulating, scheming glitch. Though I will give him this, he loves his offspring. Loves sparklings, for that matter. He just needs his aft kicked on a regular basis, and even that doesn’t always work.”

“Well,” Fireflight said with gleeful anticipation, “if it goes like we hope it will, it’s about to get kicked hard enough to send him halfway to orbit, and he’s got no clue it’s coming.”

And if I’m unlucky, Wayfinder thought unhappily, I wind up with some stranger for a partner while he shows all of Kaon that the Council will get its way despite what everyone else wants. 


	7. Defiance and Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wayfinder comes before the Council. Tronis arrives with help.

The small mech slipped into his quarters and climbed to the viewscreen to open a secure channel. Not long afterward, he got through. “I met the mech today,” he said, and described Wayfinder in detail. “He can connect to other mechs with his field. He uses it to help mechs.” He talked about Wayfinder’s work with the abused and threatened creators. “So it’s very possible.”

“Will be in Kaon in time, with Lord Megatron’s offspring. Will discover truth then. “

 

When Wayfinder was still a sparkling, he learned the fine art of eavesdropping, and perfected it when he lived in Swindle’s household. As a result, when Fireflight asked him to check on Hope, Wayfinder walked down the hall, turned, and quietly came back. He managed to overhear Bluestreak talking to Fireflight. “You won’t believe what I just heard,” Bluestreak said as he refueled his sparkling. “One of the applicants is Megatronis.”

“What? I don’t believe it!”

“The mech I talked to is sure of it. Hold on.” Wayfinder heard the sound of a sparkling fussing just a bit. “It’s okay, my little one,” he crooned. “Go into recharge, that’s my sweet one.”

“But he’s supposed to be working in Vos, after finding that hidden stash. How would he know Wayfinder?”

“Flight, nobody knows where he is for sure. I heard he was in Iacon. You heard he was in Vos. Nobody’s seen him for sure in vorns. That stash netted him a remittance of his rebuilding tax for fifty vorns and a ton of credits and nobody’s seen him for sure since!”

“Well, he’s around somewhere because he put in an application.” There was a pause. “You think he’ll be compatible?”

“Don’t be a slag-head, Flight. He’s Lord Megatron’s only offspring. You think it’ll matter if he’s compatible?”

Wayfinder hurried to check on Hope, who was recharging solidly in his sparkling berth. When he headed back, calling cheerfully that Hope was fine, Bluestreak said, “I wonder who the visitor is that the Prime is bringing with him?” and the conversation turned to speculation about the issues at the asteroids.

Later that orn, Wayfinder looked up Megatronis. He was the only offspring of the Prime and Lord Protector who worked with the administration and then with enforcement, until he found a hidden cache of great value. The information he managed to glean did not specify what the cache held but that it was valuable and confirmed the reward. After that incident, the information consisted of rumors.

So Starscream would find him a Tronis, Wayfinder thought bitterly, just not the one he wanted. His Tronis currently worked with and was well known by all of the Enforcement division, so could not be this mysterious Megatronis of the rumors, and certainly was not the offspring of the two major leaders of Cybertron!

Please, Primus, he prayed in some despair, let something happen before the Council forced a strange mech on him. But the orns went by, and Primus seemed deaf to his desperate plea.

The Council was scheduled for mid-orn. Skywarp appeared earlier in the day as Fireflight and Wayfinder were getting their morning cubes. “I’m here to take you for a massage and polish,” he said cheerfully.

“No,” Wayfinder told him. Skywarp and Fireflight looked at him in some astonishment. “I’m being forced onto some mech chosen for me. He can take me like I am or leave me the Pit alone.”

“Don’t be a fool!” Skywarp scolded him. “This is to help you feel better before the meeting. My people are the best, they’ll have you relaxed and looking your best for your new partner.”

“ _No_ ,” Waydfinder said. “I’ve been forced away from my home, my family, my friends and coerced into this partnership. Why should I care what he thinks?”

“Oh, believe me, you will once you find out who he is. Starscream found you the best partner a carrier could want; an opportunity you never would have gotten in that little club in the outskirts of Kaon.” He gave Wayfinder an encouraging smile. “I can’t say who it is, but-“

“No,” Wayfinder interrupted, his field flaring with his bitter despair, and Skywarp recoiled before he huffed and disappeared. Wayfinder put his servos over his face. Firelight hurried over and hugged him, distressed. “I was such a fool,” Wayfinder cried out. “I knew Tronis would be the best partner for me, but I wanted to keep dancing as long as I could- now I’m lost him, and my dancing, and everything in my life I ever loved. Primus help me!” and keened.

“It’s work out,” Fireflight told him helplessly, patting Wayfinder anxiously. “Skydive says he’s getting someone there who can help stop it. And if it’s terrible we’ll figure out a way to get you to the Temple somehow.”

Then where is he? Wayfinder wondered bitterly, but Fireflight’s distress helped him focus enough to stop keening. “I’d like to use the washracks,” he asked, and Fireflight sent him off with relief. The rush of solvent over his plating helped, but the com he got when in the washrack startled him.

“Wayfinder, it’s Skydive. Tronis found help but they’re coming from Iacon, they may be late but they’ve already sent word to the Council that they’re coming. Between all of you, stall as much as you can until the Prime and his visitor can get there with the news. It’s good news, young one. They arrived- it’s all chaos here but I’ve told Silverbolt, and he’ll be over to see Fireflight as soon as they come for you.” He sounded incredibly excited. Wayfinder came out of the washracks with hope and worry warring through him. Skydive’s com was full of mixed feelings- worry, joy, anticipation-and left out who was helping and why.

He looked in the washrack mirror. At the club, he maintained his appearance carefully. A well-maintained paint and wax combined with a confident and cheerful attitude earned respect and attention. Here, he let that effort slide. His paintjob looked dull and his worry showed.  Slim as the chance was that anyone would let him speak, he needed to look strong, not defeated. He reached for the wax. When the Enforcers arrived to escort him to the Council meeting, they saw a defiant but lovely mech.

When they escorted him into a room, he felt their startled reaction and saw their immediate deference to the black and white mech waiting. “I’ll take it from here,” he told them. “Go outside and keep an eye on that crowd that’s gathering to see the Prime.” They left. “Well, I’ve heard a great deal about you, Wayfinder. I’m Barricade.” Wayfinder nodded respectfully. This was Tronis’ superior, then, who refused to take him into police authority and wanted to send him home.  The head of Enforcement studied the young mech.

He gave Barricade a defiant look. “This is wrong. That petition that circulated through Kaon should tell them that, and if they force me to this, I’ll find a way to appeal to the Prime.” He knew his chances of being heard were slim to none, but he intended to try.

Outside one of the doors, the noise of mechs talking began to build. “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but  I heard that he’s chosen Megatronis for you,” Barricade told him.

“I don’t want any mech who’s willing to get a partner this way,” Wayfinder told him, bitterness in his tone and his field.  As the noise level rose, he felt both frightened and determined. They would know how he felt about their slagging policies before they forced him into this if he had to scream it while they dragged him out.

 “Do you know anything about Megatronis?” Wayfinder shrugged. “The Lord Protector and the Prime’s offspring, who is very well off.” He confirmed the facts in Wayfinder’s research. “What do you think of that?”

“I don’t care,” Wayfinder hissed, and then slumped. “I should have accepted Tronis’ courtship while when he offered the last time. I missed my chance at one of the best mechs I’ve ever met.”

Barricade smiled, and the approval in his field washed over Wayfinder. “Well, well. Tronis is on his way here now, with someone who might just make a difference in all this scrap. I’m here to lend my support to both of you.” He laughed. “Tell the Council what you think of their policy, young one. I’ll stand by you and keep the guards from bothering you while you do. That will give Tronis time to get here.”

“Thank you,” Wayfinder told him.

Barricade held up a servo and Wayfinder could tell he was talking by com. “Let’s go, young one.”

 

Tronis and his companions arrived late, partly because they had to land outside the large crowd in front of the administration building. Mechs moved and left them a corridor through. Please let me be in time, he prayed to Primus, and please let me be right about this. He glanced at the mech with him, but Soundwave was his normal silent self.

They walked into the Council chamber from a little used side room, just as Starscream was saying, “Wayfinder, offspring of Smokescreen and an unknown sire, you are called before the Council in violation of our ordinance which stated that all creators must choose a partner or cohort before the age of twenty-five vorns. Do you acknowledge this violation?”

“I do not acknowledge that the Council has any right to make such decisions on my behalf,” Wayfinder stated clearly. There was a noisy reaction. Tronis started to step forward, when Soundwave stopped him with a servo on his shoulder.

  Starscream proceeded to lay out his proof that Wayfinder was past the age stated, that he was a carrier, and that no contract was filed. Wayfinder listened without interruption. “Do you acknowledge that this information is correct?” the Winglord asked him.

“I submit that I had a contract arranged which was not completed, and that I was not allowed to contact another possible partner,” Wayfinder stated. “I also restate that the Council has no authority to decide such matters without the approval of the Prime, and I wish to appeal this decision to the Prime, which is the right of every Cybertronian citizen.”

The Winglord leaned forward, oozing smugness. “Before you take up such an attitude,” Starscream said, “you might wish to know who we’ve chosen for you.” He also gestured to two guards standing nearby, who began to walk forward. Behind Wayfinder, Barricade stepped up. He looked at both guards, one after another, and both stopped.

“I would not accept any mech who chose such a way to obtain a partner regardless of who he might be,” Wayfinder told him.

“And if I told you it was Megatronis, the offspring of the Prime?” Starscream drawled. He smiled, waiting for Wayfinder to squirm and hastily withdraw his objection. Tronis almost shouted out a protest. He never filed a request with the Council!

“Lord Protector, aware of your preference, made arrangments” Soundwave murmured. Tronis wanted to curse; he knew how badly his sire wanted him to partner and have offspring, but never know he kept that close an optic on him. “Better to know reaction now.” For a astrosecond Tronis worried. What carrier wouldn’t be tempted by such an offer? In addition, mechs would stop protesting the ordinance, looking at how Starscream settle the matter. It looked like a masterful political move.

“I maintain my right to appeal to the Prime,” Wayfinder repeated steadily. “I delayed accepting the best match I could have, a good mech, and I will not accept another partner if he will still accept me.”

Astonished murmurs broke through the Council members. Starscream’s expression darkened. “And who is this mech?” Starscream asked him. Relief and warmth poured through Tronis. He should have known the dancer better.

“Enforcer Tronis,” Wayfinder said without hesitation.

“Take him into custody, Barricade, for defying the Council,” Starscream snarled, and the Council erupted with protests. Some agreed that Wayfinder had the right to appeal, while others agreed with Starscream.

Tronis started to step forward when Soundwave shoved him back and strode forward. “Enough!” he stated, and the Council quieted as the members saw him. “First, accused correct, his right to appeal.” He recited the relevant article of law. Starscream and his supporters looked furious.  “Second.” He turned and beckoned to Tronis, who came forward wondering what Soundwave intended. When Barricade saw him, he grinned and stepped back. Wayfinder caught sight of Tronis and relief swept over his face. Heads turned to see who was walking in, and murmurs began again. “Wayfinder. Identify mech.”

“Enforcer Tronis,” he said, but he sounded uncertain.

Tronis understood. As Enforcer Tronis, he was careful to look like any other enforcer and only his size made him stand out. Today, he sported the expensive polish and wax and the attitude of someone who knew he held a high status in his society. Then he felt Wayfinder’s field touch his, and Wayfinder relaxed.

“This is the mech you know as Enforcer Tronis,” Starscream said carefully. When Wayfinder agreed, Starscream turned a furious glare on Barricade. Then he looked at Tronis. “Do you still wish to partner with this mech?” he asked.

“I do,” Tronis boomed out, “if he still wishes to do so.” He looked at Soundwave.

 Soundwave turned to Wayfinder. “Please allow,” he said, and reached out a servo to Wayfinder, placing it over the smaller mech’s spark. Both of them went very still. Soundwave removed his servo.

“Sire?” Wayfinder whispered, so softly that Tronis, who stood close by, barely heard him.

Soundwave nodded and turned to the stunned Council. “This, my offspring,” he said simply. 

 


	8. Chapter 8: The Primes Arrive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Primes arrive.

Dance of Sparks Chapter 8

For all of ten astroseconds, a stunned silence ruled in the Council Chamber. Soundwave sent a com to Wayfinder, “Apologize for public revelation of private matter. Prime needs distraction to make arrangements. Will accept?” Wayfinder sent an assurance of acceptance and that he understood why, and felt his field washed with pride and approval that he had not felt since his creator died. Soundwave stepped back and put a servo on Wayfinder’s shoulder as Tronis did the same on his other side. For the first time in ten orns, Wayfinder felt completely safe.   

Then the Council erupted. “But his optics are blue!” Scavenger blurted out. “I’ve never heard of a mech with a Decepticon sire and Autobot creator who had blue optics!”

“Filters,” Tronis said.

“What?” Scavenger said blankly. Wayfinder felt as lost.

In response, Soundwave’s chest opened. One cassette and a cassette cleaner popped out and transformed into Glit and Laserbeak. Tronis watched the process in as much fascination as Wayfinder. “Get over here,” Glit snipped as he pulled something out of his subspace, “so I can get back to my job, kid.” Wayfinder knelt obediently after a hesitant look at Tronis, who nodded encouragingly. Glit examined his optics with great care. “Well, Tronis, you were right. It’s been a while since I’ve seen filter implants like these. Whoever did them did an excellent job, the scrapheap.” Glit made no effort to hide his outrage. Questions and comments burst from the Council. Glit and Wayfinder ignored them. 

“Did what? I’ve never had trouble with my optics, and I got all the normal sparkling exams at the Temple,” Wayfinder said. “And Creator took me there as a newborn sparkling.”

“That explains why it’s so well integrated. I’ll have to replace the entire lens to see what your natural optic color is.” As though just hearing the demands for an explanation, he turned to the Council.  “Some mech placed color filters in Wayfinder’s optics that make his optics show as blue, instead of the color he was budded with. It’s expensive because it’s very difficult to do.”

“So you’re saying this is a cosmetic operation?” Scavenger asked, puzzled.

“Yes. It used to be a fad to try odd optic colors for a time in the Towers. It was banned because if it’s not done right, the processor circuits that manage sight can be permanently damaged.” He hissed. “One of the pimps Optimus Prime sent to hard labor tried it on a few of the mechs he forced into prostitution. If I ever find out who did this, they’ll tend the mechs at Vos and Praxus for a long time.” Then he reluctantly added, “But done right, it’s easy to miss in a routine eye exam. Small differences in optics happen all the time.”  

“You were at the mist incident, Soundwave?” Scavenger asked. “I thought only carriers met there.”

“Heard of meeting after started. Went to meadow to investigate gathering of carriers,” Soundwave stated, “caught in mist, knew I interfaced with a mech, due to overdose of drug memory glitched. When all offspring from mist incident had blue optics, did not seek further.”

Tronis held up a hand to quiet the Councilors and said, “Wayfinder, do you remember a memory you shared with Blades? Smokescreen’s last transmission?” He described it and looked up at the Council. “That was how Blades found out about the mist incident. He, Bluestreak, and Bumblebee started trying to find Wayfinder’s sire, and they asked me to help. But I picked up something he didn’t.”

This announcement surprised no one. Everyone knew that only Autobot- Autobot pairings produced blue optics; they also believed that occasionally an Autobot-Decepticon match produced an offspring with red optics. Tronis knew better. Offspring with red optics were the offspring of two Decepticons, who had a cooperative Autobot foster parent or neutral willing to cover for them, as Blades had for Hover. 

“I want to witness it,” Starscream said, his voice harsh. Wayfinder closed his optics, and sent out the memory on an open com.

“ _Finder! Finder, my sweetspark, listen I don’t have much time.”   Then static. “I knew he might kill me- I don’t care as long as all of you are safe- “ static-“Swindle finally told what happened. He changed-“ static again- “optics. You were conceived in the mist-“ static-“ Your sire-“ static-“ Decepticon-“ static- “tell your siblings I love them-_ “

They all murmured as they played it. “I’m sorry, young one,” Starscream said, and he sounded genuinely sympathetic.

“I heard once about the filter implants, a long time ago,” Tronis said, “when the first few incidents of forced prostitution occurred.”  He looked down at Wayfinder. “I was one of the responders to the mist incident, and I knew Soundwave was there. That’s when I got the idea that this might be possible.”

Disturbed murmurs ran through the Council. One the one servo, they showed that no mech was immune to their ordinances. On the other, their example was Soundwave’s offspring, and Soundwave was close to the Prime. While it seemed that both Wayfinder and Megatronis wanted this partnership, there still might be consequences, and that made them uneasy.

“Prime, guest, arrived,” Soundwave announced. “Request move to auditorium for crowd outside to hear announcement also.” Wayfinder’s new-found sire and his partner-to be swept Wayfinder out with them in the resultant uproar; he trotted to keep up with their longer strides. “After meeting, discuss future,” Soundwave promised. “Matters progressing, but need time. Willing to bring up forced partnership?”

“Yes,” Wayfinder said firmly.

“I agree,” Tronis said. “I never put my name in, I was working on getting you here and Creator knows that.”

“Optimus Prime, aware, intended to intervene even if mech involved accepted choice,” Soundwave stated. He looked at Wayfinder.  “Megatronis states, talent of empathy, can calm crowd?”

“The way you did at the dance when Onslaught tried to kill Blade’s sparkling?” Tronis said, as Wayfinder looked from Soundwave to Tronis.  His secret was out. The secret he never told anyone, not even his creator or mentor. “That’s when I connected you to Soundwave.”

“Soundwave, telepath,” Soundwave stated. “Logical, ability of similar kind in offspring. Rewind confirmed after interview.”

So his ability had a name.  Tronis knew. Tronis still wanted him as a partner. Relief sluiced through him, though he still had to shove his worry on how his family would react to the back of his processor. They needed him, and that steadied him.  “Yes,” Wayfinder said. His engine picked up and he vented hard, but he went on, “I haven’t dealt with a crowd this large, but I’ll do my best.”

“Good,” Soundwave stated. He stopped and pinged a door. “Come.”

Two tall mechs stood in the room. One was about a head shorter than Tronis, with blue, red and white armor. Beside him stood a mech as tall as Tronis, flashy red and yellow and orange, but Wayfinder, familiar with detailing, saw healed damage both new and old. He held a pile of mesh in his servo. They felt like no other mechs he ever touched. The sensation reminded him of being in the chapel at the Temple, a feeling of leashed power, benign now but hinting at possible storms if aroused. The blue, red and white one said, “Excellent work, Soundwave, Tronis,” with approval. He turned his gaze to Wayfinder. “Are you the mech the Council was meeting about?”

“This mech, our distraction,” Soundwave said. “Also, my offspring, designation Wayfinder.”

Optimus smiled. “So Tronis was correct! For your sake, my friend, I am very glad.” Optimus turned to Wayfinder, and the dancer felt compassion so strong he fought the urge to keen. “My apologies for your ordeal,” he said with some sympathy. “This matter will be dealt with today. However, I must say that it proved an excellent distraction for the Council and allowed us to arrange for the meeting to be opened to the public without having to deal with the Council’s obstructionism.”  He looked at the other mech. “Rodimus Prime, meet Megatronis, my offspring. Soundwave, Tronis, Wayfinder, this is Rodimus Prime.”

“Welcome home,” Tronis said warmly, as Wayfinder realized that he was meeting a mech the rest of the creators thought of as something of a legend. “I am so glad meet you at last. “

Rodimus laughed. “I am glad to be home, and done with war for a time,” he said. He looked down at Wayfinder. “I used to be one of the youngest Autobots,” he remarked, “and now I feel incredibly ancient, looking at you. Who is your creator, young one?”

“He was Smokescreen,” Wayfinder said, feeling the pang he always did when he mentioned his creator. 

“I will be saying that about many mechs today,when I have to tell their old friends what happened to them,” Rodimus said softly, his voice and field full of regret and old, deep pain.  “Why did they have someone as young as you before the Council again?” Wayfinder explained. Rodimus listened, and then looked at Optimus. “Let me repeat this back to you in as few words as possible. The Council is forcing mechs barely adult to bud offspring because they feel the population needs to be built up, partly because they fear an outside threat?”

“That is their excuse, but I have been a little too busy lately to deal with the matter,” Optimus told him dryly. Rodimus huffed and looked like he was ready to argue, but Barricade pinged the door and came in. The buzz of many mechs talking following him until the door shut.

 “The auditorium is full and the Council is seated,” he reported. 

“We’re on,” Optimus told Rodimus cheerfully. “I believe the squashing can commence in a few astroseconds.”

 As they moved to stand behind the Primes to follow them onto the stage, Soundwave placed a servo on Wayfinder’s shoulder. “Swindle kept many dark secrets, therefore feared, hated me. Sought you, never found, believed then not capable of siring living offspring,” he said in a soft voice. “Glad, very glad, to meet. Tronis, Rewind, others speak well of you. I am proud.”

All his life, Wayfinder devoted little time to who his sire might be. He assumed that the mech was dead, or indifferent to his offspring. He never considered that his unknown sire might want to know about him, assuming that if he did, he would have come forward at some point. Everyone knew that Smokescreen died with Swindle when the greedy mech brought a building down on both of them; the murder-suicide dominated the news feeds for almost a third of a vorn.

Now he knew Swindle deliberately, maliciously hid the fact that the sire was a Decepticon from both Smokescreen, Wayfinder, and Soundwave by the one trick of changing his optics to a different color. No one would ever think to look for a Decepticon sire for an offspring with blue optics. His sire sought him, wanted him, from the beginning. “Thank you,” he whispered. Rodimus Prime pulled on a cloak of thick mesh, hiding everything but his height, and they all filed onto the stage.

“Council of Kaon, mechs of Kaon, I greet you after a long but necessary absence,” Optimus Prime stated, and the auditorium stilled. Looking out, Wayfinder realized that he saw no blue optics, only red with scattered shades of purple or mauve or lavender. For the first time he realized his own optics might reflect that same color without the filters in his lens, and how profoundly that would change his life.

Then he pushed the thought away and focused reading the crowd. Most felt wary, worried about how the appearance of the Prime might change their comfortable lives. He wondered how many worried about war and how many worried about their private lives. 

“The Lord Protector and I have been preoccupied with urgent matters regarding the safety and future of Cybertron, and in our absence, the Council has guided Kaon. I thank them for undertaking this added burden for us.” He bowed to them.

Starscream and the other councilors preened. The Winglord stood and stated, “We are proud to serve the Prime, the Lord Protector, and the citizens of Kaon.” There was polite applause as he sat back down.

“However, there is a matter which has come to my attention through several petitions, and on which just a joor ago there was an appeal to my judgment on this matter.  Come forward, Wayfinder and Megatronis.” The two stepped forward. “Starscream, please state the reason this mech came before the Council.”

Starscream stood and went over the ordinance, how Wayfinder violated it, and the Council’s response.  “Wayfinder accepted Megatronis as a partner,” he finished.

“Soundwave, was this proceeding witnessed?’ Optimus Prime asked.

“Yes,” Soundwave stated, and proceeded to show a recorded hologram of the meeting. Many made sarcastic comments when Wayfinder protested the Council's right to require a partnership. Astonished murmurs broke out when Wayfinder asked to appeal the decision. They hissed in surprise at his rejection of the offspring of the Prime and the Lord Protector for an enforcer. When Megatronis came forward, they went silent, until Wayfinder identified him as the enforcer that he wished to partner, when murmurs of amusement broke from the crowd. . 

“Wayfinder only knows me as Enforcer Tronis,” Megatronis admitted. “I never revealed my background at the club. Wayfinder and the mechs there befriended me without knowing my background.” He placed a servo on Wayfinder’s shoulder. “I must be the only mech on Cybertron rejected and requested as a partner in the same joor.” Laughter from Optimus and the crowd rang out and Wayfinder ducked his head, embarrassed. 

“So the matter is settled,” Starscream stated.

"Whether or not Wayfinder and Megatronis choose to partner is between them," Optimus stated. "However, if Wayfinder chose to reject Megatronis, I would support his decision." His tone hardened. “I believe I had this conversation with you some time ago, Starscream. Do you recall the occasion? It involved a certain flier and the Winglord who wished to partner with him.” Starscream squirmed. “This ordinance is hereby repealed." 

This time Bitstream stood. “But what about the situation in the asteroids?” he asked. “Are we facing conflict again, Prime? If so, don’t we need to build our population?”

Murmurs ran through the crowd. Wayfinder could feel the fear in them. He reached for his own calm, and then reached out to share it. That reach strained Wayfinder to his limit, but as he reached to them, he touched the fields of the Primes as well. When he soaked in the warmth and the power in both the Primes’ fields, the strain eased He managed to keep the negative feelings from escalating.

  Optimus raised both of his hands and asked for silence, and the buzz died down. “I am aware that there have been rumors flying regarding the recent incidents in the asteroids.” He let the murmurs run for a time. “Those were due to a last desperate attack from an ancient corrupt empire of the Quintessons, that hoped to take advantage of us in a time of weakness. However, we had allies fighting on Cybertron’s behalf, in order to allow us to begin our rebuilding. Working with many of the world these beings oppressed, they have been defeated. Meet the leader of our defenders.”

Rodimus threw off the cloak and stepped forward. One mech stood and called out, “Hot Rod!”

“I was Hot Rod, ” the mech answered, “but when I received the Matrix of Leadership, I became Rodimus Prime.”

This time Long Haul stood. “But we saw the explosion! I know that Hoist felt the fields of his friends go blank. What happened?”

 Rodimus Prime answered, “Wheeljack, Hound, and Mirage created an illusion around Skyfire and that was one of the side effects.”

“So you’ve been out in space fighting all this time?”

“Yes,” Rodumus Prime said, and suddenly he looked tired. “Ever since we reached the _New Ark_ , we have fought the Quints, with the help of several organic species threatened or suffering under them. The incidents in the asteroids was their last ditch attempt to get to us here. Now that the threat is under control, we have come home.”

Starscream stood and said, “You mean the _Ark_ is here? Now?”

“Orbiting Cybertron, after clearing the trash from the asteroids.” Cheers broke out mixed with shouted questions.

This time Bitstream stood up. “Is there a reason why we have not been informed of this matter beforehand, Primes? And how long has the Lord Protector been aware of the matter?” He spoke civilly, but there was a hint of anger in his tone.

Wayfinder reached out again.  Bitstream felt like he sounded, not afraid but very upset at having this important matter hidden As he expanded his reach to the Council, he felt that in all of theCouncilors- a feeling of betrayal for being left out, as though they were not important enough or strong enough to be entrusted with this information or with the protection of their planet. Wayfinder could feel that begin to build in the crowd as well.

Optimus Prime answered,  “Two reasons. Cybertron desperately needed to be rebuilt and allowed to heal without further destruction.” He paused, looking from one member of the Council to another, and then to the mechs with red optics in the crowd. To Wayfinder’s relief, they could process what Optimus said, and the negative feelings eased more. He drew his field back.  Many in the crowd and Council nodded, remembering the terrible damage to their world.  Soundwave pressed a servo to the dancer’s shoulder again, letting approval move over his newly-found offspring.

“Rodimus Prime and I could communicate, though imperfectly and with great effort. The Quintessons had to be stopped, but those who suffered Unicron’s corruption remained vulnerable.”

Hurt pride eased, as the implications sank in. The first generation remembered their time during the war, and how much better their lives became during peace. “Vulnerable how?” Starscream asked.

“A return to war for those purified risked a relapse to old behavior habits. So it was better to give all of you time to heal while we began the rebuilding. Very few,” he stressed, the ‘few’, “knew of the existence of the Ark and that the Matrix of Leadership chose another bearer. Those that did know consented to restriction which did not allow them to speak of the matter to those who did not know. You may believe your partners if they tell you they did not know or could not tell you of this matter, including the Lord Protector.”

The anger in the Councilors eased, though the discomfort did not. Clearly, the mechs here remembered their lives before purification, and had no wish to return to it. “Thank you for clarifying this matter,” Bitstream stated with what dignity he could muster, and sat down.

"Therefore, there is not reason for this ordinance. No mech," he stressed this, "will be forced by any governmental authority to bear offspring at any time for any reason except their own free choice. At no time will the government of Kaon or any other city in Cybertron or Cybertronian colonies force mechs to partner at any given age or with any given mech under any circumstances." He paused. "Our population has just increased, from not only the mechs from the new Ark, but several other mechs who fled the war and have joined him. The remainder of our people have come home, my friends."

The reaction from the crowd was mixed. Relief that there was no war conflicted with worry over how the arrival of these new mechs would change their lives. 

 “So Rodimus Prime and the Autobots who remained with him on the Ark, and those who they found in their travels, held off the threat to us while we rebuilt our planet and learned to live peaceful lives.” His tone became stern and disappointed as his optics roamed the crowd and held those of the major protestors. “You are not the mechs wronged here. Rodimus and his crew have fought, and many died, to give the mechs here that chance, and we must see to it that they are welcomed home to join the rebuilding effort.”

Starscream stood and spoke directly to Rodimus Prime. “I believe I speak for all of us when I say that we do welcome you and the mechs with you to Cybertron, Rodimus Prime.” The crowd cheered and clapped with real feeling.

 Optimus Prime turned to the Council. “Therefore, there is no reason to require creators to partner and bear offspring.” He looked at every mech in the Council and added, “Creation should be a sought after joy, not a forced duty.”

 Rodimus added, “There is no threat, and if there is a threat, we have trained and experienced fighting teams which are willing and capable of dealing with threats until we have a new mixed militia drawn from all Cybertonians for Cybertron’s defense. Strika, Obsidian, and the Lord Protector will work with me on this matter.” Power oozed from every inch of him as he added, “I trust I make myself clear?”

“Very clear,” Starscream stated, somewhat sullenly. “In the meantime, what arrangements are we expected to make to welcome our returning mechs home? Living space is available in Kaon but not exactly plentiful.”

“Oh, that’s not a problem,” Rodimus assured him. “We’ve got Metroplex and Trypticon with us. They’re looking forward to being on Cybertron again. They just need to know where to settle.”

Optimus Prime brought the meeting to a close and they left the stage. Soundwave stated, “Meeting, gave needed time.”

“I have to wonder how Starscream and the Council are going to react,” Rodumus said on a private com, “when they find out most of their partners are gone.”

   


 


	9. Meeting the Returning Heros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wayfinder meets the Wreckers, and feels intimidated until he realizes they have worries, too.

As the Primes left, Rodimus contacted Optimus by com. “He’s the one, isn’t he?” he asked.

“Yes. The one I was told of, long ago.” They transformed and drove away. Optimus led the way, using little known side streets. Above them Megatronis flew, keeping watch over the Primes until his sire could join his creator. 

“We’ll have to keep an optic or two on him, won’t we?”

“Not a problem. He is Soundwave’s only offspring. The cassettes will see to it. Even Rumble was excited when he heard that Soundwave might have a child.” They left Kaon and hit the road for the Temple.  

“Good. I need to get back to Metroplex and be sure there’s room for all the visitors. Thank Primus we have our own energon collectors. Otherwise, he might try to say we have to marry off our people for energon and I’d have to stop someone from killing him.”  He laughed and then sobered. “That and we can’t stay in Metroplex and Trypticon forever.”

“If he is foolish enough to bring the matter up, you have my permission to beat the slag out of him. Even his trine would think he deserved it.” Optimus sped up. “But Silverbolt has a distraction planned, so that should derail any foolishness on Starscream’s part.”

“It’s not nice to get my hopes up like that.” With that he pulled even with Optimus, and the race began. They felt Megatronis’ amusement above them.

 

Wayfinder stood at a window, staring down at Kaon’s main street where occasional alt forms drove and mechs walked by. His processor moved in circles. This time, hope and fear warred in his spark. Instead of losing control of his existence, he felt the weight of choice weigh on him.

After the meeting ended, Wayfinder followed the Primes, Soundwave and Tronis back to the waiting room. “We need to leave,” Optimus Prime said. “By this time, everyone who intended to visit their friends and family in Metroplex should be there or on their way.”

“I was surprised not to see him.” Tronis said. Usually when there were crowds, his sire insisted on standing in the background, glowering at anyone foolish enough to argue with his Prime. “But he just contacted me and asked if I would stay by you until he can join you. He said that the asteroid situations seem to be settled now and he is finalizing matter with Strika, Obsidian, and Elita One now.”

“I requested that he stay away to avoid faction issues, and to finish up with his meetings. He understood, but his programming to protect his Prime will make him uncomfortable soon. We will welcome your escort if it makes Megatron feel more comfortable, and release you as soon as we reach the Temple.”  He looked at Wayfinder. “Your assistance was timely and appreciated.”

Rodimus added, “I hope both of you are willing to help with the integration. We’re going to need all the help we can get.”

“More than happy to assist, Creator, but you need to speak to Barricade for me, and Wayfinder needs some time to think.” He placed a protective servo on the dancer’s shoulder. Both Primes stated they understood, and left. As Wayfinder drove, while Soundwave flew ahead, he felt empty. All the changes left him reeling. He tried to make some sense out of them as he drove and instead wondered what color his optics were without the filters, and what his siblings would say when he told him what was happening.

Soundwave’s home was an expensive anomaly- a private home in central Kaon, where the administrative offices and headquarters to large companies stood. “Acquired early, needed space close to admin headquarters and archive.” Most of the mechs Wayfinder knew lived above their business, like he and Quid, in an apartment like Illusion, Sharpster, and their partners, or lived in large extended family complexes. A single family dwelling used only for a home was a pleasant luxury on the outskirts of Kaon; this one must be worth everything Quid, Sharpster, and Lightspeed owned together, including both businesses.

“I should at least let my family know what’s going on,” Wayfinder said.

“Here,” Soundwave stated, and led him to a viewscreen. Soundwave stood nearby when Wayfinder called Quid. Clearly news was flying. After, “Are you all right?” which a quick look at him answered, she added, “Is it true, what the news services are saying? That you’re Soundwave’s offspring and going to partner with the Prime’s offspring Megatronis?”

Soundwave stepped into the viewscreen. “Confirmed, Wayfinder offspring,” he stated in his flat tone. Wayfinder saw Quid stand up to all kinds of mechs, but he noticed that Soundwave made her nervous.  “Also, Prime repealed carrier ordinance, no longer in effect. Wayfinder chooses if takes partner now.”

But at the hint that she ever forced Finder into anything, she got her nerve back. “I never pushed Finder to get a partner. I was the one who kept all those would-be courtships off his back!” she said indignantly. “I just want to know what’s happening to my sibling!”

“This, known,” Soundwave acknowledged. “Could not say more as matters stood. As sire, appreciate protection of offspring’s choice in matter.”

 Quid relaxed a little. “We tried everything to find out what we could do or at least get to see him, but Bluestreak and Blades both told us that matters were moving, to just wait it out. Illusion said you were all right, just worried.”

“I was, but it all worked out.”

“When are you coming home? We all miss you.” While his position did not change, Wayfinder felt Soundwave’s field ; his sire disliked  the idea of Wayfinder going back to the club.

 “Tronis-the Tronis we know, Quid- and I declared our intention to partner in front of witnesses. That counts as a pre-contract until we can find time to file one a full one.” Quid hissed in exasperation and laughed at her ridiculous hopes. “Along with that, I’ve been asked to help with the integration, and I agreed. The details of the position haven’t been worked out yet It’s going to be a while before either of us can get back to the club, but we’ll be back.”

She vented. “Look, I admit I got excited, but I know you’ll be happy with Tronis,” she admitted. “I’ll tell everyone what’s going on,” she said to her sibling, “It’s been rough but we’re managing. Doesn’t help that Blades is gone. The administration asked if he would work for them for a few orns, and we could claim a percentage of his leave against our work tax.” Wayfinder asked about the rest of the family and signed off, reassured that the club had not fallen apart in his absence.

“I enjoy dancing,” Wayfinder said, wondering if anyone besides his family and Hover would ever understand. “I’m going to go back and do that eventually.”

Soundwave surprised him. “Dance for enjoyment, for love, gather feeling of fun from crowd, acceptable. Work with creators, this approved, unique to Wayfinder. Useful skill. Will test for depth and reach of ability.” He placed a servo on Wayfinder’s shoulder, letting his offspring read his field. “Consider options for future, once integration of new arrivals begun. Medical training, option; Sweetwings, First Aid, believe good candidate. Work with administration, similar position to Tronis, option, already showed possibilities in former position.” He paused, and Wayfinder felt conflict, but he went on, “Resume former position, perhaps expand, option.” His tone and field made it clear he did not like that option. “Position of bartender, manage, limited, can be done by many. Interviews for partners, Rewind enjoyed, can perhaps continue for sibling.” He vented. “Wayfinder’s choice.” He took Wayfinder on a tour of the house.

Through the rest of the orn Wayfinder met Ravage, who looked like a dark form of Glit, Buzzsaw and Laserbeak, who left shortly after to collect information at Metroplex, and Frenzy with Rumble. Frenzy and Rumble greatly enjoyed their jobs at construction sites breaking down rubble, but the other cassettes preferred to gather information for Soundwave in his role as Communications Supervisor for the Prime and Lord Protector. Mixmaster’s best energon goodies decorated the table with a selection of a good mid-grade and several flavoring options. Wayfinder won Frenzy and Rumble over by mixing their drinks without getting confused by their chatter. He could feel their connection to Soundwave, which fascinated him.

Rewind came in. “I just got off the screen with Prowl,” he said, and amusement colored his field. “It seems that all of the first generation Autobot creators are there, a lot of them with sparklings. One of the sparklings crawled over and grabbed his leg to stand up while I was watching and I thought he was going to panic. I told him to turn on his battle computer.” Frenzy and Rumble laughed at the thought of the tactician who stood calmly and managed battlefield maneuvers being intimidated by a sparkling. 

Wayfinder said, “If all the first generation carriers are there, he should ask Silverbolt to get them organized. He’s only been doing that for three generations.”

“He’s too busy bonding again with his brothers,” Rewind said. “Aid Raid and Slingshot both made it back.”

“That’s why Skydive was so excited! Have they made Superion yet? I saw the Protectobots make Defensor and oh Primus that was amazing, and I really want to see Superion!” When he saw the surprised and amused looks on the cassette’s faces, he realized he was babbling. He drew in a deep breath and got his excitement under control. “Sorry, but Skydive was my mentor at the Temple.”

“Why did you have a mentor at the Temple?” Rumble asked.

“Because Swindle hated me, so Smokescreen took me there for my safety,” he replied simply.

 Silence fell. Wayfinder felt their sympathy and their anger. “That glitch,” Frenzy snarled. “I’m surprised he didn’t kill you.”

“I don’t think he was that far gone,” Wayfinder said, “and he loved Smokescreen, in his own twisted way.  Smokescreen came to see me as often as he could, and the priests took good care of me. Then Smokescreen made a deal with Swindle that he would carry two sparklings, one for Swindle, and another carrier, if he would let me come home to help take care of the sparklings.”

“Swindle, ever hurt, hit, abuse Wayfinder?” Soundwave asked.

“Twice. He was overcharged both times. Sharpster interrupted the first time.” He still remembered how upset Sharpster was, that his adored sire would hit a sparkling or a carrier. It stopped Swindle before he struck the second blow. His overcharged action made Sharpster start to question his sire’s behavior, keeping him from following in Swindle’s criminal footsteps. The older sibling protected Wayfinder and Illusion to the best of his ability. “The second time, Smokescreen stopped him, and swore that he would take not just me and Illusion, but Liquidator and Sharpster to the Temple  and claim protection and dissolve the contract for abuse. “

“Better than expected,” Soundwave stated. Wayfinder only nodded. How could he explain that he whetted his empathy skills on Swindle, learning how to dance around his moods to avoid eruptions, how Smokescreen taught him every means he knew to read mechs and predict behavior, how they all stayed on edge with the sire of the household came home? Instead he asked for more detail on the returning Autobots.

Late that evening Soundwave escorted him to a berthroom and said, “What needs? Will provide credits for possessions.” Wayfinder was touched and explained that while he was not a full partner, he did have a share in the club as his salary in addition to the same full room and board as Quid. Soundwave commed him the screen numbers of the providers who delivered to the house, and left to allow his new offspring to rest.

But like before, Wayfinder only waited until everyone went to berth and the house was quiet. Then he slipped out and headed for the room with the large window. He performed his calming exercises and went to look out at Kaon.

“Credit for your thoughts?” Tronis said behind him. “Whoa, settle down, it’s all right!” he added hastily, when Wayfinder whirled to face him, startled. “What’s weighing so hard on your processor?”

“So many changes,” Wayfinder said, but another thought occurred when he looked at Tronis. “But there’s one I like.”

“What’s that?” Tronis asked, coming over to lay his servos on Wayfinder’s shoulders.

“Us,” Wayfinder said.

“Ah,” Tronis said, and vented. Wayfinder felt worry and determination. “Finder, I talked to Creator about us. He thinks we should wait a while before we officially partner. Before you get upset, he approved of you completely, and he thinks we’ll make a good partnership. He just doesn’t want either of us pressured to commit yet.”

Wayfinder felt relief rush through him. “I told Quid,” he said, “that I was precontracted to the Tronis she knew. Can we let that stand for a time?” He looked up at Tronis. “Because I want to you to teach me how to ‘face.”

Tronis laughed, and his servos slipped down. After about half a joor, he said, “A berth is a lot more comfortable than the floor,” in a voice filled with static. The next morning Wayfinder discovered that interfacing was an excellent means of stress relief.

 “We need to get to Metroplex today if possible,” Tronis told him over their morning energon. “The Decepticon partners aren’t happy with their carriers leaving. Thundercracker and Starscream organized a group to find out where Metroplex settled. It’s a safe bet they have some kind of plans for trying bring back their partners somehow.”

 “Rewind said all the first generation creators left and took the sparklings with them,” Wayfinder said. “He said the sparklings scared someone called Prowl.”

“He was Optimus Prime’s second in command when my creator held the Matrix of Leadership,” Tronis agreed. “He’s a brilliant tactician, know to keep his calm even in the middle of battle, but he’s never been known to deal well with domestic matters.” He vented. “I’m afraid it might be a while before we can get your optics changed, though. We need to get to Metroplex as soon as possible. We don’t need the fine upstanding citizens of Kaon getting the scrap kicked out of them.”

“No,” Wayfinder said, “better for me to meet them with my optics their color, then with the change, and show that in our generation, just having a different optic color doesn’t mean a hostile mech.” He finished his cube. “Can they really kick the scrap out of the partners?” he asked curiously.

“Are you kidding? During the entire time our parents have been rebuilding Cybertron, they’ve been fighting to keep the Quintessions from getting near us. You’ll understand when you meet some of them.”

Metroplex settled near Kalis, where the ruins were cleared of Empties, but no rebuilding from either Iacon or Kaon started. Tronis explained that Metroplex was a sparked city, a sentient being that was also a city. They went to the Temple first and stopped to rest.  The priests asked them to transport some supplies. “The roads are bad,” the priest there warned them. “Finder, would you like to change alt modes? I’ve for the specs for an off-road vehicle your size.” He paused. “It’s the same one Hound uses,” he added. When the road became rough, Wayfinder was grateful- his alt, meant for smooth city roads, would have foundered within half a joor.

As the signs of habitation appeared in the distance, Tronis pinged Wayfinder to stop, just as he noticed a helicopter above them. Several mech materialized as Tronis landed and they transformed. “Wayfinder, let me introduce Inferno and Topspin,” Tronis said. “Wreckers, Wayfinder was the reason Soundwave and I left earlier. My creator asked if he would help with the integration.”

Wayfinder managed to say something, though later he had no idea what. For the first time, he understood why Starscream and the Council reacted as they did to the news of the new arrivals.  Inferno and Topspin wore an attitude of physical confidence that told the world they would win, no matter what the challenge. Like Rodimus Prime, the signs of old and more recent repairs showed here and there on their armor. They carried weapons with casual ease, as much a part of them as their servos or optics. Wayfinder felt tiny and vulnerable, intimidated without so much as a hard word or look.

Topspin said.  “I’ll escort you in, I think the Prime’s expecting you.” As they drove in, he added, ““At least you don’t have a couple of newsparks with you. Bluestreak, Bumblebee and Fireflight have tiny ones!”

“That’s about as small as they get,” Wayfinder assured the mech, so amused by the big soldier’s uneasiness that his fear evaporated. “After all, they’re only a few deca-orns old. They’ll grow.”

“Yeah, I guess. I still can’t believe that mechs can have young just like organics do. I mean, I guess that’s better than the race dying out, but Primus!” Curious, the empath extended his field and realized that the mech felt frightened at the idea, and realized why Rodimus wanted him here. Something in him warmed to the challenge.

The supplies they carried helped. While the troops under Rodimus’ command carried Wheeljack’s converter and manufactured high grade when time allowed, the opportunity to create flavorings and pleasant but non-essential fuel appeared few and far between. The boxes contained many common and inexpensive snacks and flavorings available everywhere in Kaon. Wayfinder fell into a familiar role as he set up the flavorings and snacks for the returning soldiers to sample. As the orn wore on, several mechs began to talk about their worry that they could never fit into this world. Wayfinder provided a listening ear. When he could, he pointed out where the soldier’s skill might translate into a civilian position.

He got a map to his quarters, but made a wrong turn and discovered a large empty room. “Where am I?” he asked out loud.

“This is a conference room, but the table was needed elsewhere,” a pleasant voice told him, startling Wayfinder.  “I’m Metroplex.”

“Thank you, Metroplex. Can I stay here for a while and work through my calming exercises before getting directions back to my quarters?”

“Certainly. Would you like music?”

Wayfinder had not danced in far too long. “Yes! Let me warm up for about a tenth of a joor.” He gave the name of a popular song and worked through his exercises. In the security room, Tronis and Skydive talked patiently to a mech called Red Alert. In all his existence, Tronis never met a more paranoid mech. 

The board pinged. “Red Alert, look into the conference room,” Metroplex said. Red Alert brought up the room on his screen. “This is Wayfinder. He took a wrong turn and went to the conference room instead of his quarters, but asked if he could use the room. I thought you might want to know.”

“Thank you- what in Primus’ name is he doing?” Tronis looked over Red’s shoulder. Wayfinder was stretching, moving his limbs to their limit.

 “He’s stretching. Metroplex, did he ask for music?  He’s about to dance,” Tronis said. “Am I seeing a balcony?”

In the conference room, Wayfinder finished his stretches and stood still, waiting for the music. There’s no one watching, he thought. I can just move, any way I want, without wondering who might be watching. He always wanted to work out some daring moves to this song. When the music started, he flung all restraint to the wind, and began to move. He forgot the fears of the soldiers, the worry over what Starscream and his fellow abandoned partners, and his fears over his own future, and let his body merge with the sharp, steady beat of the music.

Standing on the balcony, Tronis watched his lover move in a fierce, joyful dance. It was not the controlled, elegant dances he performed on stage; this was dance for the joy of movement. He sensed movement, but in the next moment recognized Ravage. Movement across the way showed Rodimus and a few other mechs watching as well. As the music pulsed, Wayfinder’s joy in his dance flared out and engulfed all of them, until the music ended and he sank to the floor, venting as hard as he could. “Thank you, Metroplex,” he said between drawing in air to cool down. “I really needed that.”

“It was a pleasure to witness,” Metroplex told him, as the silent audience faded away. “Now, allow me to guide you to your quarters.”

 

In Kaon, Starscream and Thundercracker spoke on viewscreens, finalizing their plans for a march on Metroplex.

 


	10. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter

 

Metroplex  and the new arrivals brought Wayfinder a host of new experiences.

Wayfinder found Tronis on his way back to his room, and went with him instead. The next shift, Metroplex guided a puzzled Wayfinder into the medbay, where he found Rewind and golden cat-like cassette called Steeljaw. Wayfinder reached out to Rewind, who seemed to be much better. Rewind urged Steeljaw over to Wayfinder. “He can help,” he coaxed.

The cassette obediently and listlessly moved over. Wayfinder extended a servo, slowly, waiting to see if Stelljaw would object. Moments after his servo made contact, he sat on the floor with Steeljaw in his lap. When he backed away from the contact, Steeljaw sniffed him all over and murmured, “I miss Blaster so much. Thanks,” and left with Rewind.

Wayfinder pushed up from the floor just as a red and white mech with blue optics came in. “Looks like your experiment worked,” he said to First Aid. “Steeljaw looks better than he has in ages.”

“Wayfinder, meet Ratchet, first medical officer of the Autobots,” First Aid said. “Ratchet, Wayfinder’s Smokescreen’s offspring and the one who helped Steeljaw. He’s an empath.”

“Ah. Aren’t you Soundwave’s offspring, the reason he left early?”  Wayfinder nodded. “Got a message from Glit, asking if I would confirm what he saw in your optics. Come on over.” The two medics each examined an optics. “Haven’t seen those since the Ark left Cybertron,” he said. “That’s as perfect a filter melding I’ve ever seen. We’ll have to replace the lens completely to see what your original optic color was. You’ll have to stay in the medbay an orn or so.”

Before Wayfinder could respond, Metroplex said, “Wayfinder, Ratchet, Rodimus is calling a meeting and he wants both of you there. It’s urgent.”

The conference room where Wayfinder danced was crowded. Rodimus shouted for attention and then played the viewscreen message he recorded from the Temple. “We’ve gotten a warning that several groups of Seekers have tracked down the location of Metroplex and are heading your way,” the priest said. “Starscream, Thundercracker, and Flightspeed were all identified.”

“Silverbolt?” Rodimus said when the message ended. “I’ve already heard from Optimus Prime and Lord Megatron, but they can’t get here before the Seekers.”

“I knew Starscream and Thundercracker wouldn’t let us leave without raising some kind of fuss,’ Silverbolt said. “We’ve made some plans.  Bluestreak?”

“I’m staying,” Bluestreak said, his sparkling on his shoulder, looking around cuiriously. “If nothing else, I agreed to help with the integration. I’ll talk to Flightspeed if he wants but I’m not changing my processor.”

After a pause, Rodimus said, “All right. If the partners want to speak to you, you have the right to ask for an escort and we will provide up to two. Springer, you and Ironhide draw up patrols. Challenge the Seekers, make sure of their purpose, and if it is only to see their partners, with no hostility intended, then escort them in.”

The three sets of Seekers arrived in a neat formation. Starscream answered Springer’s less than polite challenge with a request that the partners speak with their creators, “in part to be assured that they are here of their own free will and to be sure their safety and well-being.”

“Both the Prime’s and Soundwave’s offspring are here, so you can be assured of their safety,” Springer told him. When Starscream only repeated his concerns, he grudgingly said, “I’ve been ordered to escort you,” and lead them to Metroplex’s hanger side where the three carriers waited. Bluestreak and Fireflight carried their sparklings with them.

Tronis and Wayfinder flanked Bluestreak on the left. Fireflight stood near Slingshot and Air Raid. Silverbolt stood with only Skydive, to the side of Fireflight in front of the opening to the hanger. Wayfinder caught a glimpse of a shuttle in the hangar and wondered at Silverbolt’s choice of supporters.

As the Seekers came closer, a loose perimeter of Metroplex’s returning heros moved to form a loose semicircle behind them.

To their surprise, the Seeker who approached first was not Starscream, but Flightspeed, and he approached with eight Seekers behind him.  Wayfinder touched his field carefully, and noted that while Flightspeed seemed to be genuinely concerned about his carrier partner, ones behind him felt both angry and self- righteous. He knew four of them were Bluestreak’s offspring, but wondered who the other four might be.  “Blue,” Flightspeed said, “what were you thinking, coming here so soon after budding a new sparkling?” His optics looked over his partner and the sparkling in his arms and Wayfinder saw and felt his relief on seeing them healthy. “All you left was a datapad saying you were coming here and you left enough supplies to last me until my next credit transfer. What happened?”

“I’m tired of being bullied by my offspring,” Bluestreak said flatly. He held up his sparkling, who thought that was good fun and kicked his pedes happily. “Flightspeed, if you wish to talk, come over here. “

Flightspeed approached, but when the other Seekers started talking and tried to follow, Tronis moved up and stared them down. They knew who he was and stopped.  When they tried shouting, Ironhide and Inferno strolled over and told them to shut up and listen to their carrier. They shut up.

“This sparkling will be the last I am forced to carry because I can’t stand to hear my own offspring carping at me. He will be the only one raised without being tainted by your insistence on their duty to partner your friends and bear sparklings.  I never wish to hear another word about what I owe either you or Cybertron.  Leave. Now.”

Wayfinder moved up behind Tronis and touched their fields enough to encourage their very reasonable uneasiness of the warriors bristling with weapons. “We’ll wait for Sire,” one said.

“Go to the Temple,” Flightspeed told him, sounding as irritated as Bluestreak. “If I’m not there in two joors, go home and I’ll contact you later.” They whined, but they left. Flightspeed sighed. “Blue,” he said quietly, “are you dissolving our partnership?” He reached out and tickled the sparkling’s chassis. The sparkling chirred. “I was looking forward to having another sparkling in the house,” he said wistfully.

“I am not going back to Kaon,” Bluestreak told him, sounding sad and tired. “The Prime authorized me to work with Rodimus Prime to help my old friends integrate, and I intend to raise my little Speedster here. But if you are willing to either help rebuild, or come here when there is room, I will not dissolve our partnership.” He reached up and touched Flightspeed’s cheek. “How did our offspring turn into such a set of officious prigs?” he asked softly.

“All except Sweetwings,” he agreed wryly. “I don’t know either. All right.” He looked over at Tronis. “Think I could get a guided tour?” Wayfinder left to stroll over to Fireflight as Tronis went to make arrangements, promising to contact Tronis if he was needed.

Thundercracker and Starscream approached Fireflight and Silverbolt. “Flight,” the blue Seeker said, “what after-budding fantasy’s gotten into that processor this time?” He indicated the Seekers behind him, who craned their heads to look at their creator. “We’ve been worried to glitching over you and the little one.”

“I came to see my brothers,” Fireflight said. He looked over at his offspring. “This is Air Raid, and this is Slingshot,” he told them. He looked around and spotted Wayfinder. Wayfinder came to his wave and took the sparkling. Thundercracker started to protest when Silverbolt called out. In the next astroseconds, the sound of several transforms filled the air, until  Superion stood over the Seekers. The Seekers gaped. Superion knelt down and boomed, “Did you forget about me, Seekers? Or did you simply hope that I was no more?”

Thundercracker said, “I came to see my partner, not Superion!”

“He is part of me,” Superion informed him. “We are Superion.” Then transforms filled the air again, and the five brothers stood together.

“Thundercracker, if you are willing to be a part of us, then we can talk,” Fireflight told Thundercracker. “But I am staying with my brothers, and MY sparkling is staying here with me.”

“We are partners until that sparkling is partnered or adult, by contract,” Thundercracker insisted.

“No,” Skydive told him. “You are partnered until your own offspring are adults. The contract does not address Fireflight’s offspring by someone else.”

“The Lord Protector decreed that the partners of a carrier is responsible for the carrier’s offspring,” Thundercracker insisted.

“And the judgement of a Prime overrules the Lord Protector, so I understand from Optimus Prime,” Rodimus Prime stated, coming over. “I judge that if Fireflight chooses to raise his sparkling here, with the assistance of his brothers, he is allowed to do so.

“Silverbolt, are you abandoning all of us?” Silverbolt said. Then, in what he clearly considered his trump card, “Aren’t you carrying by me?”

Silverbolt laughed. “I enjoyed the attempt,” he admitted cheerfully. Wayfinder felt the blast of embarrassment from Silverbolt’s five offspring and Starscream’s chagrin. “But if I were you, I’d be grateful. There’s an old friend here I think you’d like to meet.”

From the hanger came a white shuttle, which transformed. “Hello, Starscream,” the shuttle said. “Silverbolt’s told me about your purification. I’d like to talk to you about it, if you have time.”

Five young Seekers looked from their sire to the shuttle, confused. “Skybolt,” he said, sounding shaken. “I thought you died-I-“ Skybolt put a servo to Starscream’s shoulder and led him away, talking quietly.

Silverbolt chuckled. “Told you I have a secret weapon,” he said, watching them walk away.

 

Several vorns later, Rodimus and Optimus Prime stood with Lord Megatron in the Temple, watching Skydive complete the bonding ceremony. Wayfinder, his magenta optics glowing, recited partnership terms to Megatronis, who repeated his own. “They always have that look about them when they carry, don’t they?” Rodimus said before he stepped forward to sign the forms as witness. Bluestreak co-signed with him.

They drove to the new club halfway between Kalis and the Temple, where mechs came to mingle and occasionally begin courtships. Kaon still held to many conservative rules, but many younger couples chose to live between Kalis and Kaon, and slowly the two were beginning to merge. There was much more traffic between Iacon and Kaon, now that the need to hide the war and the _Ark_ ’s existence no longer held, but Iacon tended to deal more with Trypticon, whose inhabitants were neutrals hiding from the war.

When they reached the Club, they saw Wayfinder and Tronis leading a line dance.

“When will we tell him?” Rodimus asked. They confirmed Wayfinder’s proto-Prime status that day.

“We will not. He will know for himself soon enough.” They watched, seeing the signs of Cybertron’s promised renewal as the newly partnered couple danced.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> For some time there will be short chapters, as I am working long hours right now.


End file.
